frolick

I like it like that. Those halycon days, where the layer of haze, the flickering sunlight and the non existent breeze, makes it feel like Sunday.

You can only drink the cans with dents on them, those are the unsellable ones. He gulped one down, and stashed two in his bag. Working has its benefits.

She was on the swing set when he arrived. She smiled, and he threw her a can. She caught it swiftly, this was all too well synchronised.
Sometimes they could sit in silence, but only beneath the casurina. There they would rip its needles into bits and remain in reverie. Cross legged but drifting. But often they'd find each other fighting for talking time. Laughing in the midst of serious talk, or even feigning serious talk.
Like a lengthy sunday and the smell of freshly mown grass, small things made a difference.
Gulping down the drink. She smiled and licked the foam moustache.


To be continued.
That's me procrastinating again.