turf n' turf || double d
Dawn shrugged the duvet cover she’d been huddled beneath for the past couple of days off of her shoulders and stood erect at once, stretching before strolling excitedly toward her suitcase. It laid in the same exact spot she had first deposited it upon her arrival, open and overflowing with the vestiges of her unworn apparel. She dug into the heap of clothing and withdrew her hands once they’d found what she was looking for—a tight, black, short-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of tighter, blacker jeans. Dawn quickly donned the Stygian outfit and slipped into a pair of matching sneakers, then advanced toward the door.
Before exiting her bedroom, she wriggled into a hooded sweater—also black—, stuffed her Zippo into her rear pocket and tucked a Djarum behind her ear. As she ventured toward the lobby, two thin fingers transferred the cigarette to where it sat gently wedged between her lips while five raised the lighter and set it aflame. A couple of drags always made her meals taste better, always increased her appetite; the burning wasn't triggered by stress or nerves, it was merely habitual. She inhaled deeply, then pointed her chin at the ceiling and released the leftover smoke in one smooth, thick stream. After a few pulls, she put it out and a mint in, the crisp taste mingling favorably with that of the vanilla-flavored cig. Devon would be there any moment, and bad habits weren't necessarily something she liked to showcase when making first impressions.
