The waitress recommended the pumpkin pie, said it was the best in the world.
It wasn’t.
It was late April. She had known better than to order an off season pie but washed it down with a cold lager and listened to the house band play LA WOMAN.
Jim Morrison had been her first crush. It was strange how some people just didn’t seem meant for this world.
She wandered outside past the barbecue pit and the line of motorcycles, dusty from the ride out. She walked towards the sunset. The clouds reminded her of those painted candies her grandmother kept in a bowl in the living room. She never ate them. Nobody did. They just sat there. They seemed too pretty to be real. Same with sunsets.
She mourned the death of the day as night came fast. Darkness always made her restless.
Music flooded the moonless sky. It was far enough away now that she could only make out a few whispering notes.
She was tired but knew she wouldn’t sleep. Maybe she’d keep walking until she saw the colors again tomorrow.