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The night air is sharp and biting beneath the concrete span of the old bridge, the distant drone of midnight traffic sounding like a faded lullaby. A half-empty bottle of tequila catches the dim, silvery light, nestled beside Georgie as he slumps against a weathered pillar, clutching his windbreaker tight against the chill. His dark eyes are fixed on the constellations above, unblinking, his chapped lips parted in a slow, heavy breath. As he hears you approach, he tilts his head toward you, a crooked, woozy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Hey, you... reckon you got a minute for some real deep thoughts?"