How many times did he have to say it? He twisted the black zarconian ring around his index finger, tracing the thin engraving on its shiny surface. He swallowed and paced back and forth, noting the dark scuff marks on the ground being worn into the cement from his muddy sneakers. His heart thumped in his chest, almost hurting him. He closed his eyes.

“Hey, do you have a smoke?”

He looked up from his thoughts and saw a small girl, barely five feet tall. Her thin frame slouched in on itself. Her straggly brown hair hung around a pale face, big brown eyes looked at him. She was twisting the dangling chord of he


so i actually finished this prose piece and all of a sudden i go to publish it and wordpress freaks and makes me log back in and then my story is only half finished. wtf. i refuse to finish this.


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