Here’s a brief excerpt from the story:
On her way to the steak house, she thinks about what a nice, polite boy Buddy seems to be. He can’t be more than seventeen or eighteen. He’s so different from the other boys, the ones who hang around the parking lot at Simon’s every Friday and Saturday night, always waiting for something to happen. Or maybe she’s the one who’s different. The current batch of boys represent the new generation of rednecks with nothing better to do than park their pickups and shoot the shit with their friends, not exactly looking for trouble but not shying away from it either. With round canisters of tobacco stuffed in their back pockets and cigarettes handy on the dash, they’re largely indistinguishable from the boys who hung out there when Tiffany was a girl, which wasn’t that long ago.