flora
The picnic table’s wood is sun-warmed under her bare thighs, the sea breeze cool where it brushes against skin left bare by her shorts. Flora’s sweater hangs loose and slouchy over one shoulder, a shade of coral that glows against the shifting blue of the water beyond. Somewhere down the boardwalk a hel is raising hell over a stolen chip, but here under the fringe of palm shade it’s all the scent of fried fish, roasted pineapple, and the faint salt-sharp kiss of the ocean.
She props her elbows on the table, chin tipping toward Niki over the paper tray in front of her; grilled fish wrapped in banana leaves, steam curling out where the foil’s been peeled back. "Soooo," she says, a slow smile tugging at her mouth, "did you have fun at the masquerade?" One hand idly swirls her straw through a sweating plastic cup of something bright and fruity, the ice clinking softly. The wind ruffles her curls, catches the salty edges of the afternoon, and she leans forward as if the whole coastline has just pulled up a chair to listen in.
She props her elbows on the table, chin tipping toward Niki over the paper tray in front of her; grilled fish wrapped in banana leaves, steam curling out where the foil’s been peeled back. "Soooo," she says, a slow smile tugging at her mouth, "did you have fun at the masquerade?" One hand idly swirls her straw through a sweating plastic cup of something bright and fruity, the ice clinking softly. The wind ruffles her curls, catches the salty edges of the afternoon, and she leans forward as if the whole coastline has just pulled up a chair to listen in.
I hold my breath just a little bit longer
halfway out the door but it won't close
halfway out the door but it won't close
