A Handful of M&Ms

Claire leaned back, her golden hair fanning out on the pillow like a halo. Her palm was dripping with color, the M&Ms melting into her hand, and a red trickle of dye slowly slithered between her thumb and index finger and dripped on my comforter. "That's the thing," she said.

"There isn't any screw up you can't come back from."