Our souls have finally emerged from the depths of hell. It’s been a long six months, but we’re finally ready to hit the road. The sidewalk is egg frying hot; the chewed gum melts into the fractures like art.
“Are you ready, darl’?” he asks.
I lean over his lap and turn the dial on the radio. Slowdive croons out of the hot-wired car. His face has a subtle sheen of sweat, his brows furrowed into a smile.
“I think so. I’m just reminiscing. I’ve gotta leave this place behind.”
“Kiss me,” he whispers.
And that’s what I do.