Cigarettes & Dark Rum
It was in one of those rare moments where every 30 seconds you could look up and the air around you had changed, the blue space between night and day that painted pockets of perspective and limbo, that they had arranged to meet. He waited at the end of the street next to the traffic lights at about half 6, but that didn't determine anything. It wasn't the fact that it would only be the two of them, or the secret texts or missed calls, or even the bursting smile they concealed as they thought "they want to go with me?". It wasn't even in the assumptions of strangers as they walked back up her street to a park bench, or in the way his arm instinctively stopped her crossing the road before him. Maybe it was in the conversation which fluttered between school, cigarettes, clothes and parties. Or the way her eyes saved him when he didn't know what else to talk about, as if to say "I know, me neither".
