he was secretive in his plan. in the way he worked. he used straws, a few clear and one or two red. he used a lighter as his only tool. it was masterful. yet i had no idea what he was doing.
it was a couple days later that we found a small coffeehouse, tucked behind the main street in new orleans. away from the hustle and bustle of bourbon street, the music of royal.
we found a table away from the heat.
in that moment, he took my camera. turned it on me. without anywhere to run, i went with it.
i rarely give in. but i couldn’t hide. i had nowhere to go.
and to be honest, i didn’t want to be anywhere else.
after the plastic melted, molded into a tiny piece of art. we dealed. for the first of many times, i now know.
we made a promise to make it last. make it work. and to not take each other too seriously.
i still have the ring. and i still hold on to that promise.
we dealed, after all.