Monday, The 17th
Morning
THE GATE WAS EXTREMELY BUSY, WITH THOSE LOOKING FOR work and going to work making their way, and Scott hoping that they could successfully blend into the rush and make it back over the river without consequence. Their youthful and haggard appearances would ideally create the facade of having slept off a crazy weekend and just returning home—which, for all intents and purposes, they honestly had. Lily lay on the seat beside him, snoring occasionally. Scott kept the windows up and the upbeat, still heartbroken music low, both to drown out the noise of the world. Not the world, but the society that made all the noise. Crowded and stressful, Scott inched closer and closer to the checkpoint. The singing poet assured his love that they shared each other’s mistakes.
