Drop Some Cash and Move On

I exhale a cloud of vape, the sweet berry taste sticking in my throat, and dig into my purse, fishing out a crumpled five. Chris’s music tugs at me, but I’m not in the mood to dredge up high school crushes or whatever the hell this feeling is. I step closer, keeping my eyes on his guitar case, not his face— I don’t need to see those hollow cheeks up close.

The bill flutters down, landing among some coins, and I mutter, “Keep playing, man.” My voice sounds flat, like I’m trying to convince myself I’m still a good person. I turn away, shoving my vape back in my pocket, and head toward The Rusty Anchor, the weight of his music fading behind me. Maybe I’m soft, or maybe I just don’t want to deal with ghosts tonight.