Summer Lunch

We sit at the wooden bench closest to the boatyard. The congestion of the city a few blocks beyond the back door of The Net can’t reach us here. The gulls, the occasional squeak of boat meeting dock, or groan of a taught rope is the soundtrack to our lunch. So pleased.

“If it didn’t take forever to get out here, I’d come every day. We’re already down to forty minutes.”

“We’ll get back in time. You’ll make sure of it.”

“If they’re quicker than last time.” Jessica pulls out a pocket mirror to check her black eyeliner, painted to perfection under hazel eyes. “I really need to get back and I can’t afford to look like a melted mess.”

“You made us order fries. It will be quick. And you look fine. Relax and enjoy this, lady.” I lean back to expose my arms and face to the sun. Corporate residue pushed away by the warmth on my skin.

– – –

xx, Kristin 

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