❛❛ they say the coast’s nice this time of year, calm too. ❜❜ her fingers idly rest on the butt of a cigarette as they pluck it from out of a pack. then, keepin’ the silver lighter, she throws the pack to him. sitting on the bed, gazing out the window right beside it to the kick the ash out, henry lights her cigarette and takes a drag. the same neon lights of night city bathe her face. it’s been fifty years but she’s not changed a thing, same silver eyes and dark hair, wearing one of his massive shirts the exact same way, with reserved expression as her mind races through several hundred ideas of once. ❛❛ kept your old motorcycle. could fix it up together, give it a fresh coat of pain ... then we could go down, see the sea. heard layin’ in the water like a corpse ‘s supposedly good for ol’ war aches. ❜❜
@silvhand, forced.