boxterjulep

We sat on damp and tattered lawn chairs out on the rotting patio sipping watered down red wine under a deep yellow sky. Our clothes were soaked through front to back. We didn't care much. The ferns and small palm trees I had planted in various pots either had been knocked down or blown apart by the winds. The glass table was still there in between us with a rusty folger's can set in the middle of it, filled with water and weeks of cigarette butts and ashes that now made for a muddy grey stew.

The rain had stopped. It would start again soon enough.

"Hey, look! A rainbow!"
"Oooh, that's nice."
"Should we go look for that pot of gold?"
"If you want to. I'm staying right here."
"You're no fun."

We sipped our wine, looked up at the sky--we never looked at each other--and waited. I felt pools of water collecting on my head, then when they could hold no more, trickle down in a stream right off of my nose.

Something good was coming our way. I felt it.