The Person I'm Next To Is Displaying Our Age Gap At Every Turn

I'm next to this kid. His hair is shaggy, shiny and brushed across his face from the left. Not only is it in his face, but it seems to be staying stuck in place, ignoring gravity. His jeans are ripped, torn and tight and his shirt is black with what I assume is a band name on it. The font of band name is distressed and eroded and there are similarly distressed and eroded line drawings behind it. Also he is talking to me,
"Scuse Bra, gimmie dime sized forties, Yeah!" I don't know what this means. He continues to speak entirely in indecipherable slang, and looking up at me with knowing glances. I nod.
Everything this guy is doing, saying and wearing is something an old man would complain about. He is like the poster child for 'those damn kids', but he seems nice enough. He offers me several fist bumps while he jabbers, which I take him up on. Then after a few minutes of me being confused, yet entertained. He puts his hand straight up in the air like he is waving goodbye to someone 30 yards away, and then abruptly turns and walks away.
"Tillage," is his only parting word.
I'll miss him.

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