closed for: @jordanmitchell
where: roof of her apartment building in gastown
roof
It’s a simple text back to two in a row she had sent him asking where he was, the first of which wasn’t ignored intentionally but incidentally.
( That was the problem with two phones, one always needed some sort of attention. )
There’s an opened bottle of Hennessy resting against the inside of his right ankle where his feet rested beside the abandoned rooftop couch he had laid claim to for the evening. The choice was less celebratory and more necessary — it had been a long day.
Long week, long life it felt sometimes.
Still, even then in the solitude of the small hours of the night the prospect of Jordan’s company felt like something brought some light to him. Warm, familiar, all the good things he didn’t have the vocabulary to express even though sometimes he would have liked to.
Instead, he tilted his head back against the back of the couch as the blunt he was working his way down hit the ash and waited for her — something he was no stranger too.