Salty Fingers

Our shoes splattered half-formed puddles, stray droplets striking the tips of our noses. Jumpy footsteps and eager laughter rang through the verdant canopy above us; the footpath our ramp, auburn car beams our spotlight.

We cradled a box of fries in our arms; crisp, yellow and finely salted. We nibbled on them, one at a time.

Hands full, hearts hungry, the buzz of our combined laughter filled our ears. We sang at the top of our lungs, only the trees bore witness; leaves rustling furiously, in tune.

The air was rich with the scent of pinecones and wet grass; it was filled with strings and confetti and the sheer childlike joy of our conversation.

Eyes wide and innocent, all 32 teeth exposed, we skipped up the stairs, arm in arm, licking the salty bits off our fingertips.

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