Saturday felt hollow, the kind of day where the walls close in if you sit still too long.So Marjorie and I made a pact:roller coaster or bust. Anything to jolt me out of the fog I’d been dragging around since that night.
We stood in line, the metal rails cold under our fingers, the air thick with the smell of fried dough and sunburnt tourists. My head still throbbed, but at least the world felt alive again.
I reached into my American Spirit pack, pulled out a cigarette, and held it out to her without much thought.A peace offering.A distraction.Something to do with my hands while the guilt still simmered.
To my surprise, she took it without hesitation.Lit it expertly.Inhaled like it was second nature.
She blew out a slow stream of smoke and shot me a sideways smirk.Turns out we had two
