![zinstall reviews 2015 zinstall reviews 2015](https://fmvworld.com/img/main_theguygame.jpg)
“They’re in Orlando,” he told Ryan Stonesifer. “They went to Georgia,” he told Mark Andrews. People kept asking Tyler where his parents were. Jose Erazo, a slight, soft-spoken 17-year-old with straight black hair combed at an angle over his forehead, was playing beer pong when he heard someone say, “Oh, he killed his parents.” Everyone laughed. The white keyboard was tacky with brownish dried liquid - beer, maybe, or Coke. Mike cued up Wiz Khalifa’s “No Sleep” and a couple of tracks from a Lil Wayne mixtape, “Tunechi’s Back” and “Racks.” The computer area was even filthier than the rest of the house. The table was directly next to the family computer, where kids took turns playing songs on YouTube. Some people are smoking, that’s all.”Ī large crowd had gathered around the beer pong table. “I smell dead people,” said the skater, giggling. Mike was talking with some girls on the couch when a very drunk skater kid - he looked like one of Tyler’s friends - ambled over. “Actually, just stay in the house,” said Tyler to nobody in particular. If the neighbors got alarmed, they might call the police. Tyler seemed less concerned with the destruction of his home than with the noise. Cigarettes were extinguished on the rug, the kitchen counter, the wall. In the living room, when bottles fell to the floor and shattered, kids laughed. They draped themselves over the couches, played beer pong on the dining table, scrounged for food in the kitchen cupboards and gathered in packs out front, tossing empty cans onto the lawn. “It’s my parents’ house.”īefore long there were 60 kids in the house. “I don’t want no one smoking inside,” said Tyler. His eyes were large and white, his pupils expanded, and he kept rubbing his hands together, nervously clenching his fists. He seemed anxious, or at least as anxious as you can be while on Ecstasy. Tyler answered the door wearing a long black T-shirt, black Dickies and black Nike Air Force high-top sneakers. So they figured they might as well check out the Hadley party. Mike and his friends had already spent three hours killing time at the mall in Stuart, 20 minutes down the coast, and another hour at McDonald’s. There was no access to the beach, no downtown, and no place for teenagers to hang out at night other than a giant arcade called Superplay USA, which advertises itself as a State-of-the-Art Family Playground. It had half a dozen golf courses, twice as many assisted-living homes, seven funeral homes, two bingo halls and a shuffleboard club. The city, 40 miles north of West Palm Beach, was a tomb, designed for the soon-to-be-entombed. There never was anything going on in Port St. But it was a warm summer evening in July and there was absolutely nothing else going on in Port St. His friends - potheads, juvenile delinquents, pill poppers - were not the type of kids Mike liked to associate with. At school he was quiet, approaching nonverbal, though occasionally prone to sudden, nonsensical outbursts in class. Tyler was distinctive looking, tall and skinny, nearly cadaverous at six foot one and 160 pounds. Mike, a popular, athletic junior, knew the host only by sight. The party was just getting started when Mike Young arrived with 10 or so of his friends around 11:30 p.m. No one was convinced by this, but at 8:15 p.m., Tyler posted another message:Īshley Haze messaged: “WHAO what what if your parents come home” Tyler posted a message on his Facebook wall: