daxton makes love to new york time, a cigarette in hand as her eyes wander and avert from thing to thing. she searches for SOMETHING in everything, which has become a horrid habit. maybe it's her way of searching for a feeling again, anything. whether it's fleeting or concrete. she's clad in a slightly painful pair of high heels, which always made her much taller than the rest, which felt glorious. though, the blisters forming on her feet are begging to differ. ❛ h-have you ever felt neither sad or happy ? seemingly RIGHT in the middle. i feel that right now. perhaps i've gone mad. ❜ daxton mutters to the stranger beside her, flicking the ash from the cherry of her cigarette. the girl turns to him now, head canting to the side. she eyes the grey areas on his sideburns, then moves her gaze back to his face. ❛ you smell like a bonfire. ❜