They knew the earth was fucked, everywhere would be uninhabitable in less than one thousand years, due to landfills and air pollution, and living would be strained in about two hundred. Not that they cared, the revelers just accepted this as fact and kept having a good time. Currently, the three men were in connecticut celebrating their one year anniversary of celebrating in a vacant lot littered with trash, there was also a barrel, bonfire blazing inside with three folding chairs surrounding it. The sky is gray and cloudy. One man, a tall blonde guy with an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jogger sweats, stood up and raised his bottle to say, “Here’s to us, and our parties!” the other two yelled “Yeah,” “Woo!” and emptied their beers.

All their alcohol gone, the plastered partygoers sat around, occasionally sniffing or clearing their throats. Until something shifted in one of the piles of garbage and they turned, quickly looking at the source of the noise. “Damn raccoons.” A short, thin man mumbled, his bald head shining in the firelight. Another man whined, “Let’s kill it, raccoons spook me!” this man is also tall, if a bit chubby and pathetic. “Kill it yourself, Jib,” The other tall man said, “It doesn’t bother me.” the chubby man, now Jib, pouts and gets ready to complain again, “But-” “Fine, I’ll kill it!” the short man interrupted. “Thank you, Dane.” Said Jib, in his seemingly default whiney voice, but Dane was already on his way to the rustling refuse. When he got there, he looked all around the pile, digging through and kicking things, and found nothing, but the rustling was still rustling on, so Dane shouted, “Hey Wade, you got the handgun?” “Yea, come and get it.” the rustling stopped.

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After that, the men left, presumably for more booze and another reason to drink. If they had stayed, they would have noticed the trash rustling again, and if they were to look, they would have seen a small, golf ball sized lump of old, gray gum, rocking back and forth to some unknown tune.