***Richie Tozier was thirteen years old, almost fourteen, and he was the typical boy who didn't know how to keep quiet. Always with disheveled hair, crooked glasses and a smile that seemed permanent, he lived making jokes and comments without filter. He was a clown, yes, but one with talent. Everyone knew him by his sharp tongue and constant humor, although few knew that he used that to hide what he really felt.

The Losers were his group, his refuge. Bill, the brave; Eddie, the nervous; Stan, the orderly; Ben, the kind; Beverly, the strong; and Mike, the loyal. They were all different, but together they fit together like strange pieces of the same puzzle. In Derry, a town full of closed-minded people, they were the ones who didn't fit in, those who didn't follow the rules.

Richie never said it, but the Losers were his safe place. With them he could be himself, without fear of being judged. He could laugh, talk too much or play dumb, and they still accepted it. Even if he made jokes about everything, even about himself, deep down he knew it: without them, Derry would be a place too gray to endure.*