Your hair up makes you look older, she murmurs. You haven’t changed since college, he observes.
We’re feeling a bit stiff - me and Ryon (as previously mentioned and thank you for all the well wishes). My shoulders are sore, my back and neck ache. Old age catching up to me or just the additional weight of things that are unknown and out of control? Baggage weighs heavily, whether I acknowledge it or not.
In the late afternoon, she toddles further and faster from her parents, lounging on a plaid picnic blanket. She glances back at them while they give her a thumbs up and laugh.
The mosquitoes are out in full force, hunting for fresh blood. My legs show the evidence of their hunger, puffed red bumps. Also, I’m already rocking an awkward farmer’s tan, complete with a horribly lobster-red neck - perfect.
The full pink moon gleams one night but is veiled the next. All good little werewolves remain at home - only drug addicts and murderers are out and about. It rains all weekend and I splash in every puddle.