Alana says. It’s basically the first thing she says, other than bumming a cigarette from me. Since I’m doing my best to quit, she grimaces when she lights it and half the shit falls out. “You should quit,” I advise her. “I hear they’re bad for you.” “Yeah, fuck yourself.” She smokes it anyway, so I suppose it’s good enough. “Really, though, I don’t know about it. I feel like maybe it would be a bigger show of respect to acknowledge its absence. Her absence.” “I guess.” I watch her smoke, but I fight the urge. I’ve been so good at cutting back on everything that’s damaged me. Of course, Alana and I are standing in front of a bar, but I need to drive to Lily’s parents’ house after and I already promised myself that it was only one drink. “Besides, we would just end up in an argument about the song,” Alana continues. “Anything I picked would be too popular for your taste, and then you’d just get moody and eventually, either you’d pick a song behind my back that you wanted in the first place anyway but wanted me to guess you wanted, or you’d say it was fine, pick my song, and then bitch about it until we are eighty.”
What do You think about Ambrosia (A Flowering Novella)?
