when: November 16th (Saturday), 11:03 PM where: outskirts of the Whitegrass property, Harvestfest 2019 who: @ericmoralez
The bench was cold against her back as she laid down, Mar staring up into the cloudy, dark vault above. She couldn’t spot a single star through the swirling mass. Not even a sliver of moonlight. From the not-so-far distance, she could hear the tinny sound of fairground music through worn speakers, and she swore the dueling scents of cotton candy and roasted almonds had permanently burned themselves into her nostrils.
She fished out a pack of Camel Yellow from her pocket. Had bought it three days ago, on a whim. Hadn’t touched it since, but she was tipsy, now, approaching drunk at the speed of a funeral dirge.
It was Sam’s brand.
“Hey, Eric–” The flicker of a Zippo cast shadows across the lines of her face for a moment, before all that remained was the red-tipped cherry of her cigarette. “Y’want one?”