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TRACK VIII. THE HEART OF ME MIIKE SNOW
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THEY NIBBLED ABSENTMINDEDLY ON THE EXPENSIVE CIGARETTE BUTTS, as they outran the cars on the boulevards. Deedee's ashy blonde hair flung after her like a white blanket left outside one a line in stormy winds, and her pink dress with petunias sewn on it danced along in the effortless dance created by their little run across the boulevard.
Their beaten sneakers got a little extra beaten when they passed a stop sign, but instead of stopping, they willingly ran into a puddle in which their socks got soaked as they splashed right into it.
"Fuck!"
The taller one of them, a wiry-built boy with sinewy arms, turnt his head and just when something flew into his direction he realised that Deedee wasn't swearing because she'd gotten wet, no, but because she'd lost her dear cigarette.
The expensive long kinds of cigarettes from the brand VOGUE, which she swore made a woman hundred times more attractive when it was lit on and a thin trail of white smoke weaved into the air like white tread. She thinks that's art.
But Deedee also thinks smelly old crackheads are trustworthy.
She stopped abruptly and searched the ground for the cig, but it was too late as a yellow Cadillac spurted by and pressed the elegant white stick into the grey asphalt.
And with that, it was left to rot. They both turnt away simultaneously.
"Have mine," Chad wiggled his cigarette between his chapped lips and little this gesture brought a cheeky smile to Deedee's face, and before Chad knew, she hijacked it with two fingers out of his possession, wagged it in front of his face, and stuffed it into her mouth, at the same spot where her previous cig sat.
