Sage

I left the club through the back exit, the morning air sharp enough to cut through the haze of rut still clinging to my skin. Her scent was on me! deep in my pores, under my nails, soaked into my shirt. I didn’t bother changing. I wanted it there. A reminder.

The note she’d left was ash in my pocket now, burned with the end of my cigarette outside the door. Forget. As if she could scribble a few words and erase what happened. As if I’d let her.

I slid into the driver’s seat of the Rover, the camera tucked safely in the inner pocket of my jacket....