here you are at the end of america

mason carpenter / 23 / late-night radio host / penned by lexie

[soundpanel]

[agirlnamedmason]

flynnt:

There was a natural rhythm between Mason and Tommy that just allowed everything to flow so naturally. Conversation, laughs, serious discussions (though those were rare, it was usually just conspiracy theories and such the like), even sex, the whole thing was just so easy, which made Mason the perfect candidate for the agreement they had. No feelings, just let it flow, and somehow it worked. Tommy had been a little reclusive in his feelings since his last relationship, and it was far easier to have none at all than to let them get the better of him again.

“So someone like DJ.” He joked, always teasing the young woman even when she wasn’t around. “Are you kidding? I’d eat the Mayor. I bet I could taste all those secrets he keeps locked up in there. I mean, I’ve never tried to eat a person, but there’s no ruling out that you don’t learn everything about them when you eat ‘em.” It was perhaps a little strange how easy Tommy answered that question, but he did spend a lot of his time high which led to those kind of thoughts late at night. “I wonder who Josie ate.” He mused, thinking aloud.

“You got me there,” she said. Mason had actually conversed with a cannibal once, behind a partition of bullet proof glass at a Texas penitentiary, and he had said nothing about acquiring the secrets of the unfortunate few he’d consumed. But perhaps Tommy was on to something and the government was making sure the cannibal she’d spoken to – and all the others out there – didn’t speak the truth to stop others from acting on perhaps ulteriorly motivated cannibal urges. This was the sort of goofy conspiracy that she normally would’ve volleyed Tommy’s way but she suddenly grew reflective, almost inward-looking, at his musing. It was something that she had long considered without any real conclusion.

“I dunno,” said Mason, “and at this rate I don’t think we’ll ever know, either. I guess unless someone comes forward to say their brother or mom went missing and still hasn’t been found. But even then it’s not much to go off of. And you’d think it would’ve happened already. My guess is that it’s probably somebody outside of Wade, which really just brings to rise even more questions.”

For a brief second Mason was reminded of the full weight of this mystery, feeling it like an anvil resting on the small of her back. It was as if this anvil was being restrained by a threadbare rope, the only thing keeping it from crushing her entirely. But it seemed the more she looked into Josie’s case, the more puzzled she became and the more the rope threatened to snap.  “Hey, serious question,” she began in total solemnity, a rarity for the two of them. “Do you think we’ll ever figure out what really happened to Josie?”

[agirlnamedmason]

ofdollparts:

As if on cue, Henley’s stomach growls. The sound sputters out in a weak gurgle, forcing even more red to the apples of her cheeks.

“Sounds amazing,” she says, agreeing with her keen stomach. They set off.

Every now and then, a cool breeze picks itself up. It blows down the streets, a current catching dandelions and stealing their little parachutes away. They twirl and dance like ballerinas. Henley watches some flutter past her ankles as they walk.

“I’m sorry,” she starts eventually, “for asking you to wait outside. I just–… I know it’s pretty rude.”

Mason laughed, and then answered as though the gurgles of Henley’s stomach had been tangible words. “Yeah, I’m pretty hungry too.” 

She followed along at the other girl’s side, feeling comfortable in their silence. It was never something she was particularly good with, unless it was was strategic. That is, using silence as a way to get an interviewee to utter more nuggets of information -- a technique she had picked up from watching copious amounts of Louis Theroux documentaries. But there was nothing at all awkward or weaponized about the silence between she and Henley. In fact, there was something almost peaceful about it. 

“No, it’s okay,” said Mason with a flick of her hand. “Believe me, on the scale of rude things people have done to me that was a solid zero. Don’t even worry about it.” 

[agirlnamedmason]

wnderkinds:

         Perhaps he’s an elitist bastard (he is, a little bit), or just automatically dismissive towards those who claim to chase the paranormal, but he finds himself unexpectedly startled by Mason’s sheer commitment to the case. She isn’t working on the story for shits and giggles, or for her own amusement; her frustration is evident in the way she pours whiskey down her throat like she’s chugging beer. Dubious subject matter aside, she is a journalist.

         “Hey, whatever it is, it can’t stay under the radar forever, right?” he offers by way of consolation. This is Richard talking to himself, too. It’s a difficult case, but he didn’t expect anything less, did he? No use in letting the restlessness get to his head. He just needs to be patient and put the pieces together like he always does. Observe. Rule out possibilities one by one. Form logical, well-founded inferences. Find the pattern ―- it will be there. It has to be.

         And again here he is, thinking too much, working, on a night out meant for unwinding. Signaling the bartender, he opts for a rum on the rocks this time, which is soon followed by several more. He will allow himself this. However talented he may be at repressing the fuck out of his stress, it’s the farthest thing from healthy, after all. (Then again, nor is using alcohol.)

         Happily tipsy, Tyler throws her a smirk, clapping haphazardly as the last note of the song rings out. “Ooh.” He downs the last drop of his drink, then sets the now empty glass down on the counter with a dramatic flair, standing up. “C’mon, let’s show ‘em the flavor ― I’m thinking classic Britney.”

Though Mason had thought Tyler was handsome before, there was something about him suggesting Britney Spears that made him nearly irresistible. Mason couldn’t remember how many drinks she’d had (the bill at the end of the night would stand as a grim reminder), but she knew she was drunk. That had been the whole point of this outing, after all, and though she had not disclosed this to Tyler in her initial text, she had also fully intended on taking him to bed, if he would have her. And what was wrong with that? He was funny and good-looking and Mason was dying to feel hands on her body. Dying for someone to want her, if even just for a little while. 

Mason laughed so hard that she snorted. “Let’s do it. Everybody in this bar is about to get schooled.” 

She made her way to the karaoke set-up, which was really just somebody’s old laptop, a projector and two microphones likely procured secondhand from Ebay. She scrolled through the selection of songs, hunting for a specific track with the sort of concentration usually reserved for the sober, though she was anything but. 

The unmistakable opening chords of ...Baby One More Time trilled out of the speakers as she handed Tyler the second microphone. She knew this was a rather cliché choice, but Mason didn’t care. This was her favorite. She had also dressed up like Britney in the music video for a high school halloween party -- school girl skirt and braids -- and drunkenly performed the song for her friends, complete with choreography. It seemed she had come full circle. 

[inhale-indie-vibes]

SZA // Drew Barrymore 

Cause it’s hard enough you got to treat me like this Lonely enough to let you treat me like this Do you really love me Or just wanna love me down, down, down, down?

[agirlnamedmason]

plantedfreya:

  Freya smiled - though she, too, wondered deep down about the truthfulness of the statement. One of the things she’d enjoyed most in their early friendship, and even now, was Mason’s stories of other places she’d been. Aside from the peach orchid in Georgia, the stuffy hospital walls, and now Wade; Freya had no stories of her own, only imagination.

  But oh, the places she could dream of… the places she wrote of, created. Many times Freya could picture whole worlds and universes, bursting with activity, and none of them contained any sleepy cities like Wade. Then again, without the little suburbs that Freya currently called home, she’d never have found her place here on the bed with Mason.

  Little blessings, come by surprise - every so often, her mom’s voice surfaced, and Freya sighed. Happy for the distraction that Mason proposed with her question. “Anywhere… in this world?” The writer had to clarify, for if given the choice, she would leave this reality entirely.

 “Barcelona, maybe,” She answered, without having to put much thought to it. “The colors, the festivals, the foods - the football,” She added with an eye roll, lacking any interest in sports, but loving the drama of it all. The parties that sporting events created. Plus, she had a whole family there in Spain - her father’s side, dozens of cousins she’d never even met. “Or Brazil. I think I could do well on the Brazilian beaches. I could model. Get fat off of passion fruit and guarana.”

  The difference between she and Mason, Freya believed, was that the opposite woman could make something out of nothing - Frey felt much more limited in her happiness. Maybe it was the ticking timer in her chest; a heart set on failure, slowly but surely. Freya couldn’t fabricate excitement in real life like Mason could do for her, so she created it with words, yet never quite felt she had wings. Maybe that was half the appeal of Mason - what she stood for, represented. A wanderer, a nomad. Freya could only dream of such lives. “Where you choose to be when it all comes to an end? Everything. Life, the world, whatever. Where are you going, like - what is the destination?”

She had to smile warmly at her friend’s question. In this world? Mason considered herself a writer but in a very different way than she considered Freya one. Her friend strung sentences together like cotton candy, imaginative and beautiful and full of double meaning. Though Mason liked to think she wasn’t as clinical and boring as some of her true crime contemporaries, she still couldn’t do with words that which Freya seemed to accomplish so easily. Second-nature, almost. It was not with jealously that Mason considered this, but with pride. 

“I could see that,” she said, nodding seriously. “Your ass is fat enough.” Jest aside, it had always made Mason a little sad to consider Freya’s situation. A part of her wanted to take her friend -- her best friend, she realized with a pinch of sentimentality -- away from this place. A mind like hers did not deserve to be kept cooped up in a suburban box. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined the two of them on the road together; a great American adventure of Tolkienian proportions. But this fantasy almost always deflated as soon as it started, as Mason remembered a fundamental truth: she was not made for companionship. 

Mason had always known that she was meant to be alone. She was born alone and she would surely die the same way. It was better like this, she thought, because the reality was Freya would eventually leave her just like the rest. It was another fact that Mason knew deep down, always had. There was simply something about her, some unknown characteristic she had yet to pinpoint, that pushed people away. That made them want to leave. First her father, then her mother. And then her first and only love, and from then on Mason had decided to do the leaving before anymore people could realize she was a liability. 

When Freya had volleyed the question back at her, though with a weightier spin, Mason rested a hand at the other girl’s chest, right where she knew the scar was. She considered her answer for a couple minutes. “At the end of the world,” she began, still feeling that dreamy, unreal sort of quality. Perhaps it is that which allowed such a soppy response to escape her lips, “I’d like to be with somebody I love. And who loves me back. It doesn’t matter where.” Mason remembered herself then, plastering on a smirk, “Well, maybe that’s not true. I think I’d rather end the world on a beach in Fiji than in Wade.” Sighing out softly, she was surprised that she didn’t feel better after saving face. Usually it was the act of vulnerability which made Mason feel rather queasy, but now she felt as if she had just told a particularly terrible lie. 

She sighed a second time, feeling the thunder of Freya’s heart beneath her palm. “And where would you go, hmm? At the end of everything?” 

[agirlnamedmason]

nongratae:

“you want one?” she asked, fishing the lighter and pack out of the bag and extending them to mason like an invitation. the pack was, upon inspection, brand new. it seemed fitting, then, for them to open it: it was like an inauguration, a toast.

   “damn. sounds like my cup of tea, then,” nora joked. she was still self-conscious, if only a little bit; she didn’t know whether her humor would throw mason off, but by the looks of it, things were going seemingly well. she had left the most curious items available for nora to gaze at, and she’d welcomed her without complaints - it was only fair that nora remained just as open to mason. nora exhaled out a gentle chuckle. “i have never seen 80s straight porn, so i can’t imagine what the guys must’ve looked like–” she tried conjuring an image of it, but the only thing that came up were flashes of robotic yet somehow-still sloppy fondling and obnoxious drunken groaning. she shook her head as if she were disposing of the memory. “i’ll take your word for it.”

   mason’s words made nora laugh. afterward, a genuine smile lingered onto her features. she wished she could’ve known mason sooner; she could’ve used an ally like mason a few years back. “oh, you bet. i just hope you’re okay with a weed-induced mess of a manicure.”

   the brunette couldn’t hold back a laugh as the tv turned on, the sight of the couple in all their splendor coming into view. but her attention quickly returned to the subject of mason. “really? that’s a damn good way to come out then – i could’ve probably used some pointers from you,” she shrugged, an air of modesty and nonchalance to the gesture. “i don’t think i could choose between them – lindsay in ‘herbie’? i don’t remember much about that movie other than the car having a mind of its own and lindsay giving off very heavy sexually ambiguous vibes. she was ahead of her time.”

She accepted the cigarette with a grateful smile. Even though she knew she ought to cut down on her nicotine consumption, it was more than budding addiction that caused her to accept the other girl’s offering. Mason had always had a keen appreciation for sharing, a very school girl attribute that she had never seemed to grow out of.  But yet there was something so intimate about someone sharing a bite of their food, a sip of their drink, a cig from their brand new pack. It had always seemed to Mason like something special and not to be ignored. 

Cigarette to her lips, she lit up using Nora’s lighter, listening to the other girl talk of Herbie. Mason snorted a laugh. “Exactly. It’s funny how when you look back at stuff you used to watch as a child you sort of realize, ‘oh, dip, that’s why I’m gay now.’ There was a surprising amount of homoerotic imagery in child’s media back in the early aughts.” 

Smoke drifted out of her lips in amorphous tendrils and she watched it drift to the ceiling and disperse like little clouds. Every now and then a dramatic moan would draw her attention back to the television where two big haired lesbians (that both looked like variations of Dolly Parton, she noted with interest) were feeling each other up. Mason rose suddenly and went to open a window. She knew that her neighbors would most assuredly hear the porn they were watching, but what did she care? The walls were paper thin anyway, and she herself had heard all manner of unsavory things coming from the next room over that she doubted they would care very much. They’d be hypocrites if they did.  

Mason returned to the bed, plopping down next to Nora. “Can I ask you something kind of invasive?” She leaned back on her elbows, head tilted slightly as she gazed up at her friend. “Well, actually, maybe it’s not that invasive. Depends on your definition of invasive. God, how many times can I say invasive in one sentence? Anyway--” She took another drag of the cigarette before continuing. “Why’d you call me tonight? Not that I’m complaining. Just curious.”

[glass-garden]

Visit Original Link

Workin’ out, sleepin’ in, takin’ vitamins

[lilpieceofmyworld]

[agirlnamedmason]

📱DJ ⇄ MASON

( ✉ → mason ): i can’t decide whether to be excited or scared that you want to Frankenstein some cereal ( ✉ → mason ): i guess we’ll find out soon enough, tho it does sound strangely good ( ✉ → mason ): i’ve always wanted to see how a radio station worked ( ✉ → mason ): especially when live

( ✉ → sexy einstein ): well ur more than welcome to come whenever u want  ( ✉ → sexy einstein ): it’s usually just me at the station when Wade AM airs ( ✉ → sexy einstein ): but i sometimes go in a couple hours early to prep/do some paperwork and that’s when sexy sal’s jazz corner airs and omg  ( ✉ → sexy einstein ): i fucking hate ‘sexy’ sal. he’s so creepy. he keeps calling me an “exotic beauty” like ??????? bitch i’m from sacramento 

[agirlnamedmason]

@wnderkinds​

date:  april 25th time: an hour and half after Josie’s funeral location: the conifer lounge

Mason didn’t know what to make of it all. Unlike what took place at the Spring Celebration, in which she’d been suffused with a blend of glee and pride, after Josie’s funeral, she was simply stumped. Despite the content of her show or the theories she and her friends volleyed during Ghoul Gang hang-outs, she’d been almost certain that whatever was going on with Josie would end up having a more grounded explanation. But there was simply nothing grounded about a dead woman disappearing in the midst of her own funeral service. The second Mason had walked out into the fresh air, she knew she was going to have to reassess all of her case notes. She also knew she needed a drink. 

She rushed home, haphazardly changing into a pair of sweats and an oversized shirt, and shoved a number of her Josie files and notebooks into her trusty backpack. Not wanting to waste time by walking, she skateboarded to the Conifer Lounge. The bar was more crowded than usual, and she set up in the very back, copious notes splayed out on the table before her, a pen behind her ear. She ordered a whiskey. There was much work to be done, especially since she and the rest of the gang intended to break into the funeral home after hours to search for clues. She wanted to go into that investigation with a sense of stability, with even the vaguest idea of what she should be looking for. 

It took her a moment to notice that someone was standing before her table, and even then she only noticed because they had casted a shadow over the page she was furiously scribbling on. She gazed up. 

“Oh, hello,” she said, genuinely surprised to see Tyler standing before her. In her shock, she forgot to ply on her usual sharp-tongued wit or charm. Instead it was a genuine, close-lipped smile which she casted at him, nudging out the extra chair with her foot so he could sit. 

[agirlnamedmason]

jasmineaxiong:

“My new goal is to open up a law firm that’s inside a bar. Get people talking, give them that liquid courage, know what I mean?” she joked. She knew that was against the law but it sounded like a fun idea anyway.

Jasmine looked at the shot glass that had seemed to magically fill itself. She took a sip of it, making sure that she was at least able to hold a conversation for the next ten minutes. Most of her nights consisted a glass of red wine on the couch with her dog watching Netflix. It was nice having friends that she could still drink with even if it was on a random weekday.

“Dude, that’s freaking cool as hell. Are you kidding me? I wish I was there. Maybe it’s because I’ve been so interested in murder and drug documentaries on Netflix. I probably shouldn’t admit that because people shoot me weird looks when I mention it, probably because of the whole Josie situation. I promise it wasn’t me.”

“I know you’re joking, but that’s kind of genius,” said Mason. “I mean, what’s it that people say? Drunk words are sober thoughts?” She doesn’t figure that would be strictly legal, but it would certainly cut to the chase. Mason had procured a well of vital case information through similar means. Alcohol was, in her experience, the most effectual truth serum. 

Mason couldn’t help but laugh at the other woman’s response. This was why she and Jasmine got on so well, she thought and took another sip of her tequila. Well, that and their mutual love of alcohol. “Well, drug busts happen like every other week at Cherry Hill so I’ll be sure to call ya’ for the next one. I’ll get us some lawn chairs and popcorn.” 

She knew she had been trying to take it slow with her alcohol consumption, but Mason was not much of a sipper. She knocked back the rest of her glass and then refilled it, topping up Jasmine’s as well. “And hey, next time you’re having a true crime doc marathon make sure to hit me up. I used to watch them all the time but I haven’t had as much time lately, what with work and looking into all the Josie stuff.” 

[agirlnamedmason]

albanyrogcrs:

Mason’s pleas would’ve normally fallen on deaf ears, however this time Albany couldn’t believe she was actually starting to reconsider. Perhaps it was Mason’s readiness to help during the girl’s moment of distress, but Albany felt slightly indebted to her.

Maybe if it were a goldfish…

                                               a cat even…

BUT A RACCOON?

It would be a tough situation to defend if Mason got caught, and naturally Albany would be implicated. After all, she’d have to include this raccoon nonsense from earlier in her incident report to her boss. He’d definitely be able to put two and two together if a domesticated raccoon were to be reported.

Dorito was kind of cute though…

“Ugh, FINE. Fine!” she finally caved, turning to glare at the sleeping raccoon, “But you owe me. Like—A LOT. In fact, tomorrow, I want a cherry pie from Red’s Diner on my desk. And none of that overnight shit. I want it fresh. I wanna see steam coming off the top.”

She huffed, bending until she was eye-level with the baby raccoon. Her voice was sticky and sweet, “If I get even one complaint about you, Miss. Dorito I’ll turn you into taxidermy and hang you over the fireplace downstairs. Got it?”

She sprung back to her feet, “And he doesn’t leave your room. I’m trusting you, Macie.”

“Fresh cherry pie it is,” she said. Mason wasn’t sure how she was going to accomplish that one, as it seemed that Josie had been the pie maker in the operation. (Shame she never had a chance to try one of the older woman’s pies. Mason had heard that they’d be exceptionally tasty.) That wasn’t to say Red’s still didn’t serve pie, but Mason theorized that they were bought from a grocery store and then sat in that glass showcase for days on end. Well, there was a local mystery. Maybe she could enlist Albany’s help in solving it, as the younger girl had already proved useful under pressure. 

“Mason,” she corrected, this time not holding back the cringe at being mislabeled as a ‘Macie.’ Yuck. Although, she’d gladly be Macie if it meant she could keep Dorito. “But thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.” 

Mason stood as well, carefully as to not disturb the slumbering raccoon in her hoodie pocket. She was still ruminating on the other girl’s threat, though perhaps not in the way she had intended. “That’s very Psycho of you, by the way. And I love it.” 

[agirlnamedmason]

📱DJ ⇄ MASON

( ✉ → mason ): she really is ( ✉ → mason ): i hope you enjoy the most boring show on the face of the earth then ( ✉ → mason ): ANYTHING else would be more productive ( ✉ → mason ): frosted flakes and banana? ( ✉ → mason ): i might try that, got a whole lot of time  

( ✉ → sexy einstein ): i’ll have to come over so we can Frankenstein some cereal  ( ✉ → sexy einstein ): i imagine cinnamon toast crunch & honey nut cheerios would prob taste pretty good together ( ✉ → sexy einstein ): u could always come help me out at the radio station  ( ✉ → sexy einstein ): you can press all the buttons on the soundboard 

[agirlnamedmason]

oracleurchin:

While Frankie encouraged Mason to clear her mind, her own thoughts raced a mile a minute: she was going through a mental check-list in her head of all the little tips and tricks she’d picked up from the books and videos she’d read and watched about tarot, but she was also trying to recall what little facts and observations she’d picked up on Mason. Whether or not Mason actually bought into any of the psychic-witch-nonsense that surrounded the Abbot women and their apothecary was an unknown, though it seemed unlikely to Frankie. Nonetheless, she was committed to doing better than a half-assed job of playing her part.

Frankie returned the smile Mason offered her, and nodded when she said that she was ready. “Alright – you’re going to separate the deck into three piles.” She nodded as Mason followed the instruction, “yeah, like that. Then you’re going to pile them on top of one another. Do that as many times as feels good. And remember, keep those intentions bright and shiny.”

Mason followed the instructions to a T, piling the cards on top of each other a number of times before settling her hands in her lap. She had to stop herself from laughing at the other girls mandate to keep her intentions all ‘bright and shiny’, though it was the way she said it that made Mason think that perhaps Frankie didn’t completely buy into all of this. Normally, finding out something like that during a psychic reading would be a bad sign, but it only made Mason grow fonder of the other girl.

Of course, maybe Frankie had clocked Mason as someone who was skeptical of psychic readings and was just playing into what she wanted to see. Yet again, Mason had to respect the hustle. 

“Okay,” said Mason with a small nod. “What’s next? Am I supposed to ask a question?”

[agirlnamedmason]

patchjones:

     Patch is starting to wonder if he should carry a spray bottle full of water. Just so when Mason appears and starts performing he can get it out and spray it at her. He has done that to his siblings before when he still lived at his parents place. He makes a note to order one off Amazon later.

Hearing Mason’s laughter is both annoying and also nearly brings a smile to Patch’s lips but he bites the inside of his cheek to stop it. He settles for shaking his head and if asked he refuses to admit their was any fondness in the action. “You laugh like an old lady.”

Patch turns around hand to heart and looking utterly offended. “I write jingles for a living, I make my life interesting thank you very much.” However, having Mason in his life, while annoying, is also enjoyable. But he’d rather listen to Justin Beiber’s first album on repeat than admit it. “More interesting- pffft.”

“Yeah, well, you look like an old lady,” she rejoined, sticking her tongue out at him. 

That wasn’t one of her most clever comebacks, but hell, she was running on about two hours of sleep. And there was just something about being in the man’s presence that reduced her to an annoying twelve-year-old. She didn’t have any siblings growing up but imagined this must be what it felt like to be the annoying younger sister. Although Mason can’t comment on how annoying Patch found DJ, she supposed that that position was already filled. Maybe she’d settle for a vexing younger cousin. Next she’ll have to ask him if he’s got any games on his phone. 

She dissolved back into laughter at his statement, getting great enjoyment out of his look of offense. “Oh, yes, because writing little numbers about cat litter and toilet paper really is the spice of life.” Despite this incessant dunking on, Mason actually had respect for what Patch did. She considered herself a creative, but not in the same way that Patch was. She quite liked watching him work. 

[agirlnamedmason]

ofdollparts:

“I won’t be long,” Henley promises. She offers Mason her most grateful smile before rushing inside, dumping her bike on the porch on her way in.

Plastic bags screech and crackle as she lays them on the kitchen island, instantly alerting Henley’s mother to her presence. Rather than help unpack them, though, Eleanore peers through the sheer curtain, cold, cruel gaze training on Mason.

“There’s a girl outside,” she utters softly. Her voice feels the same as her touch: Gloopy with false sweetness.

“Um, yeah,” Henley agrees, stacking the eggs into place. She isn’t quite sure what to say to that.

“She’s loitering.”

“She’s just waiting for me, mom.”

Henley’s quick to turn to the fridge, avoiding the shocked stare she’s sure her mother’s fixing on her now. Ever since moving to Wade, Eleanore’s acted more and more shocked to find that Henley’s made friends.

“I see,” she says, using few words to say so, so much.

Henley tries to lift the sunken feeling in her chest by the time she’s back outside, hands stuffed deep in her jacket pockets as she rejoins Mason. “Sorry,” she breathes, “shall we go?”

Mason could busy herself in Henley’s absence by mindlessly scrolling through her phone, but had made a promise to herself to attempt to ‘embrace the stillness.’ It was challenging and Mason’s fingers twitched to reach inside the front pocket of her backpack where she knew her phone resided. 

In less than second, it became unbearably clear why she was always plying herself with something: smoke, drink, sex, mindless entertainment. Mason did not like being in her own head. Screw it, she thought and grabbed her phone. She had made it half way down her Twitter feed by the time Henley returns. She shoves the phone into her jacket pocket. 

“Sure,” she said with a grin. “A delicious stack of pancakes awaits us.”