The Laugh. Part Five.

She is still up in her apartment on this warm, saturated summer evening, lazily rocking in her creaky thrift store chair. It's too hot to sleep and so she sips on iced tea and directs her eyes toward an old TV that is quietly murmuring in the corner of the living room. The windows are all open, the sun has not completely set, and air is weighted heavy with memories of earlier summer nights spent out in the streets. She can't shake her teenage feelings tonight, when she would sneak away with friends to drink in the park and wander main. Life felt so much more purposeful then, when she at least had goals, even if the goals were to simply get a few thrills. She wants to crawl out onto her balcony and whisper to someone below that she will meet them in the parking lot in two minutes. She wants to pace the floors of this heat charged room. But instead she rocks slowly and runs her fingers over the velvety arm of the rocker. It's this unsettled feeling, even though all around her the evening breathes contentment.