The grass smelled sweet and the air brimmed with the scents of nature. Milan looked up at the stars, a placid smile on her beautiful face as she rested on her arm, falling undoubtedly into a daydream. “You okay? Are you cold?” “No, everything is just perfect.” The blackness of night blanketed them. He never tired of her smile. “Tell me a story, a true story…” She asked. “What kinda story?” He snuggled a bit closer. “I don’t know, something from your life. Yeah, read me a page from the book of your life.” Her voice and face soothed his heart. “Okay, let’s see…I got it. When I was a little boy,” he began, “I had seen this house that I currently live in a gazillion times, Milan. My mom would drive past it on her way to taking me to school, in her old, beat up station wagon.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his mother’s hands clutched around the steering wheel, a cigarette dangling out of her mouth and her red and white waitress uniform with all the wrinkles and stains clinging to her thin, yet womanly form.
