“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.
Words and Clutters 