The speakers above the bar are old, shotty, and grimy with age. Something is playing through them. Lo-fi hip-hop, that’s what it is. Slow and gentle, very hypnotic.
The television in front of me is on but muted. A football game is playing, but no one is watching. It’s just me here.
A warm breeze comes in from the Pacific through the open side door leading to the smoking patio—the palm trees beyond the patio’s tall wood fence sway.
I finish my beer and order another. I put a coaster on top of my fresh glass and went outside. The sky is sweetly lucent from the descending sun, lively pink and dying orange; sherbert purples drape above as lavender clouds float by. I light a cigarette and watch the embers and smoke slowly die in my lungs.
Today is my last day here in Paradise, I tell myself as I put the cancer stick out and walk back inside.
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