It all started with a braided bracelet and a frosty bottle of beer they bought from the man with a rumpled white shirt and a bedraggled looking cross that lay coldly around his hairy neck. They walk out, pushing, then pulling on the hot metal handle. A fresh tide of damp heat rolled through them and dispersed itself throughout the store. Her hair had become a raspberry banana milkshake in the sunlight that summer. Shaggy and beautiful. A mop of funeral black hair intruded his face, sweeping down past his forehead to cover a deep gauge, filled with blood, on his perfect milk skin. It did not need to be covered, no, he wanted to look into a storefront window and see it, deep, leaching puss, infected by now, wanted it to show. But she had nodded her head, first to the west, then back towards the east. The way her face was arranged, this time, made a spark of doubt come into his head about the smile he was about to make public. Instead, letting go of his parted hair, and letting his hands fall, he nodded. Not discussed again, there voices fell into routine. There lips forming words so familiar, not known to them anymore. As the lips talked, so did their eyes, searching, touching, wondering, hoping. There feet realized, then went, somewhere, nowhere, being everywhere. The body became loose. She let her head rest on his shoulder. Soon got tired, pulled her knees up so they touched her chest, and the soft bleach stained shirt that hung on her, restlessness, again, and she stretched her legs out all across the couch. Laying her head on his lap. The shaggy hair ran behind her head as she went to lay her head down. For a brief moment filling the air with the soft scent of jasmine and honey. Letting her eyelids flutter closed, she opened her eyes to the world.