Rose Garden

“Why call it convenience store when they wouldn’t let you drink in peace?” he said.

“Who cares, I’m cool here,” I raised my bottle, and clanged it with his.

Above us, the omniscient stars watched over our clandestine meeting. He whispers a joke and I repress my laugh, every time. And I fail, every time. Despite our efforts to be nondescript, the night is gay, and so are we.

To my dismay, the sun had risen too soon. Except, it wasn’t the sun. A man in orange is pointing his light at us…the bottles…and then at us again.

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