C88 Eighty-eight

The ten-minute wait for Brandon soon extends to thirty, my feet drum into the floor and I clench my phone in sweaty palms, waiting for a message to explain his lateness. Tree branches hang above me, providing relief from the heat but my underarm still perspires.

Curly hair’s card is still on the bench, the name written in Calligraphic letters at the top is David. After much contemplation