Synchronized Swimming: Jay
By the time I clocked out, it was well after closing. My back was stiff and my brain was a scrambled mess of table numbers and wine pairings. I pushed through the heavy doors and into the parking lot, the humid Florida hair hitting me like a wet towel. I didn’t head for my car. Instead, I crossed over to the bushes that lined the property and the half-wall where Cole was. He was perched on a milk crate, his back against the half wall, while the cherry of his joint glowed like a lonely star in the dark. “You look like you just went twelve rounds with a meat grinder,” he said, taking a drag before handing me the joint. I didn’t worry about the empty milk crate. I slumped down against the wall next to him, my legs stretching out in front of me. I took a hit, the acrid, sweet smoke filling
- Writer
