When all three people bailed for one reason or another, I walked my friend home. I barged in a cafe thinking they were still open, only to have the guy counting change tell me they closed half an hour ago. I called up a friend with a feeling of dread and lonely.
I went into a shady store by the gas station and bought ice teas and peach rings. Completely forgot those were a thing. The packet of yellow and pink gummies came with nostalgia of family road trips and licked lips. They tasted like bouncy plastic dipped in sugar with a hint of artificial peach aftertaste. Just the way I like ’em. The plastic bag on my warm weighed like a prized possession about to be delivered.
I saw their backs first as they gazed out at the quad. “You kids know this is illegal,” I said loudly in a Southern accent. Then I had a bit more to drink, went back home and watched an episode of Chopped.
Where does this leave me?