Alli sat on the porch of the rundown, clapboard house, made of bleached, graying wood, black shingles shifted randomly around on the broken, sloped roof.
The field of yellow flowers stretched before her. Dark green trees on the horizon, shuffled and waved in the summer breeze. The sky was a hard azure, a robin’s egg shell of vibrating heat. Fluffy, picturesque clouds floated without a care, yet high white formations gathered in the distance, for the afternoon thunderstorm.
The screen door swung in the wind. This was the same house she, Aro and Nealy had met in as teenagers. Far away, distant pick-up trucks rumbled down the dirt road, leaving curling swirls of dust.
What’s Going On – 4 Non-Blondes