"Hold my drink," he instructed as he passed off his glass to Reese.
Abandoning his companion, the athlete strode into the small, shed-like space. A phlegmatic stream of light, either from the moon or more likely from the stadium lights, wove through the slats of bench seats above. Dust drifted lackadaisically in the air, shimmering as the sharply pale light illuminated the particles. The space reeked of abandonment, and it was vacant but for a dust-covered pile in the corner that looked like the forlorn remnants of a broken, worker's broomstick.
Producing his wand from the pocket of his linen slacks, Cristopher carefully levitated two pieces of splintered wood onto the floor in the middle of the space. One after the other, he pointed his wand and transfigured each into a fabric couch and a plain stool on which to park their drinks.
The wizard pocketed his wand and proceeded to collapse comfortably into the couch, emitting a noise of satisfaction as he did so. Cris craned his neck to glance at Reese with a somewhat bland expression.
Even if a hint of knowing mischief sparkled in his eye.
"Are you joining me or not?"
it's a long way back to a high from where i am.