“There’s only one reason why they call it a ‘high street’ and you’re smoking it,” Johnny said to Laetitia. A tiny mushroom cloud spilled from her cough, Johnny took the blunt and smoked what remained. A warm blanket wrapped Laetitia’s insides, distracting her from the soggy denim cradling her arse.
The back of the theatre had been their usual haunt since they were teenagers; they’d sit and smoke the good stuff when it wasn’t busy. Looking at his face, she sighed. It was always quieter here now, but some things hadn’t changed; the desire from her youth raged on inside her.