His suede mustache held onto his upper lip as he smoked his joint, head tilted upwards slightly as to let the smoke float off upwards and to get sucked left into the extractor fan. The narcotic music pulsing in the background, coupled with the blue LED down lighting, elevated his mood and got him ready for the night.
It was time for tea. She scurried around her ático, adorned with plants and celestial things. Through the patio door, which was open to the solar, emitted a sound that struck fear in a lot of the inhabitants of Barcelona but not her. She was used to it. The ting ting ting.
The earliest memory he could recall was the tink tink tink sound he kept hearing on the street.
She was laying next to him, still reeling from the previous night’s fiesta, unconscious but still breathing. He began to carefully remove the paper thin sheet that covered their naked bodies.