a glimpse of grey
We had no money for breakfast so we ate our cereal in the shower, dying along with the heat. Jazz poured out of the faucet as the whiskers on my suitcase bickered in Italian. It had been nine months of hell. My youthful lust for adventure no longer shimmered and I only felt young amongst the wooden breeze. 17 miles of stairs sung to me out of key as I drove past my future memories. We discussed human bodies and let the rain fall into the open necks of our stolen bottles of wine. August was a shit show.