Water dripped off pink wool. Jade’s acrylic nails dug into the fabric, wringing. Despite blurred glasses, I spied the tag: "Dry Clean Only."
Jade’s wedges clacked through the pond, a former sidewalk. My waterlogged sneakers fell in step, matching her rhythm.
Abrupt silence exploded; it stopped raining.
And Jade stopped moving.
Clammy ringlets and soggy wool floated, face down. My knees buckled; I guzzled moist concrete beside Jade. Her sniffles crescendoed, punching muggy air.
“There’ll be other auditions,” I said.
Jade rose, wool sloshing, as a rainbow embraced the clouds.
“Who cares?” Jade sighed. “I just need a dry cleaner.”
Jade’s wedges clacked through the pond, a former sidewalk. My waterlogged sneakers fell in step, matching her rhythm.
Abrupt silence exploded; it stopped raining.
And Jade stopped moving.
Clammy ringlets and soggy wool floated, face down. My knees buckled; I guzzled moist concrete beside Jade. Her sniffles crescendoed, punching muggy air.
“There’ll be other auditions,” I said.
Jade rose, wool sloshing, as a rainbow embraced the clouds.
“Who cares?” Jade sighed. “I just need a dry cleaner.”
