I. Uncut guitar strings tremble like waves of sugar cane in August heat. Cocked hats and unfettered hips attain the same angle.
II. Lit cigarettes in the storm shelter. Smoke spinning in spider threats across the rafters, tangling addictive personalities in sickly brown filters and interlocked fingers.
III. Passerby don’t know – it’s just the beginning. Lungs receiving their first taste of tar, the chemical filth sticking to my sinuses and sending blood to bang its fists on the boards behind my eyes.
IV. From wool hats in summer to dancing, dangling cigs, perched seductively where lips converge. Warmed from the inside out, lighters darken the ends of noses as we seek out the last drag. Softly coated in melting lipstick, sweat clings to the tips of eyelashes.
V. The heat has overcome us.