WITH: shepherd @ex3rtion WHERE: rabbit hole. WHEN: 12:02 am
neon red light is traded for soft amber that bleeds slowly into darkness — cold air washes over delia’s face the moment she steps outside, a relief from the heavy warmth of the bar. her loose hair blows against her cheek, gets caught on her lips, she tucks it behind her ear when it gets in her eyes. the only time in her life she could have properly been considered a smoker was the year she lived in new york ( also known as the worst year of her fucking life ). she had briefly picked up the habit before promptly forcing herself to kick it as soon once she left the city . now she never carries them as a rule, might share one when she’s drinking but not when she’s stressed — and she doesn’t really miss it much, except she does kind of miss this. getting air. turns out she can still do that much, so she does, slips away when the noise and the heat and the smell of stale beer. her friend brought her here, a pact they made to experience bath to the fullest, a diy looking poster waved in her face live music it’ll be fun. and she was having fun, even if it wasn’t fully her scene ( not after the first time in high school that a boy invited her to see a band and she watched in horror as he dove straight into the mosh pit ). her head turns to her right when she realizes someone else is lingering on the sidewalk, squints through the dim light to see them. it’s a stranger, unfamiliar, except that something is familiar she just can’t place it. “ do i know you from somewhere ? ” head lilts to the side assessing, eyes searching through the half light until peroxide hair sparks a memory, “ oh ” certainty in her tone now, “ you’re the drummer aren’t you ? ”










