An interesting interpretation undermined by difficult transitions.This one possessed many fine elements of dramatic opportunity, yet was inordinately dominated by an oddly dissonant sex scene. The rest was a series of hard-knock life-lessons as per early Gregg Araki films—linked by clumsy, sharply-veering transitions that explained more than they showed—and didn't always make sense.I was frustrated by stock characters and strange dialogical asides that pulled me out of the story—usually right before my cold, dead heart was about to soften in sympathetic suffering.And that's another thing. The suffering.I'm an emo motherfucker—as previously discussed at length elsewhere—but the kids in the picture that prompted this story are not like the ones I read about.PictureKids are affluent, clean, and vaguely wholesome in the way that well-fed American kids—whose mothers slavishly do their laundry for them—can be wholesome. They're standing in the middle of an open-plan suburban high school, with someone's dowdy minivan visible in the background. They're layered in post-millennial accoutrement, from the fashionably disinterested shaggy haircuts to the can of fanta in one boy's hand—never mind the hipster irony of his calculator wristwatch. Or the graphic tee and hoodie—which were both suspiciously immaculate, you'll note.PictureKids are having this awkward, mid-motion embrace, captured by someone with a camera, and standing where anyone can see—which maybe explains why fanta-boy looks uncomfortable.Interesting.StoryKids? Not so much. A couple of filthy teen runaways squatting in a condemned house, for the most part.But my disappointment is not so much that the short story is so different from the prompt. If this narrative were a voyage, it ended up pretty far from where that fresh-n-kleen picture began it. I just wish I'd been along for the whole trip instead of arriving just in time for the the smelly destination.The stuff in between would have been pretty compelling.