She threw her empty beer bottle to the gravel as she stood up. It sounded like ten thousand rain pellets hitting a windowpane. He watched her combat boots dig into the ground, her heels sinking most of the way in. She knelt down, connecting her ear to the rail and held her breath. She thought she could hear it coming if everything was quiet enough.
"How long?"
She looked east, down the rail. "Soon."
He didn't believe her. She was full of crack stories. Little wives tales that she lived by.
He took a swing of his Jack Daniels. He was getting antsy. They couldn't stay there forever. Someone would notice the two of them trespassing. See the footage of them scaling the 9 foot fence. Getting caught on the barbed wire. Him tearing up like a bitch.
"Gimme." She was right beside him. Bloody knuckles in his face. They needed to be drunk if they were going to do it right. He shoved the half empty bottle in her hand and pulled out his cigarettes.
"Last two left."
She stared at him for a moment while he searched for his matches. The right knee of his blue jeans caught on the barbed wire and ripped through the flesh. She watched him pour Jack Daniels on it, but it was still oozing blood down his leg. His jeans were ruined.
There was only one match.
He inhaled. Toxic smoke streamed out of his nose and he heard a noise. Her eyes were always better than his, so she spotted it first.
"We better go," she exhaled in clouds. She took a shot, put the bottle on the ground and grabbed his hand.
She was the first the lie down, face to the sky, cigarette in her mouth. He wanted to remember her just like that. Smudged makeup, blue eyes, black bruises, red lipstick, gold dress. He settled beside her, railway for a pillow.
"Ready?" She asked, staring at him.
He kissed her knuckles. "Ready."
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