PC

In the perpetual gray of South Park, Colorado, the goth kids still ruled their corner of the world like pale monarchs of a decaying kingdom. Michael, Pete, Henrietta, and little Firkle had long since outgrown the idea of “senior year.” High school dragged on in the same bleak loop it always had, but they refused to age out of their aesthetic or their principles. Black clothes, heavy eyeliner, clove cigarettes behind the school, and an unshakable contempt for anyone who smiled too easily or wore bright colors. Conformists were the enemy.