Derek, Erica and Isaac approach Boyd at the skate rink. 2300w+.
“Rink’s closed,” Boyd shoots over his shoulder at the suck of the doors opening and shutting behind him, shoving the last pair of skates from his armful into their empty slot in the racks. It’s probably just some kids trying to scam for a freebie or another homeless guy wanting somewhere to stay the night. Hell of a place to pick. “Did you miss the big sign on the door?”
“No,” a man’s voice says and pauses. Boyd can almost hear the smile. “I saw it.”