@taste-likedeath liked the thing
Sometimes a bad day just calls for getting shitfaced in an empty park in the middle of the night. Way too much Jameson later and she’s smoking in the sandbox with a fresh scrape on her knee, having learned the hard way that the whiskey’s left her as coordinated as a newborn giraffe. The alcohol does little to dull her more metaphysical senses, though, and Alex swings her head around to stare bleary-eyed into the dark when she feels someone (something) approach. It is the witching hour, after all.
“Heyyy--- want a cigarette?”












