Why she smoked, she never really thought too much about. Smoking was fitting. Maybe it was out of rebellion, completing the image of the tortured artist and rock n' roll enthusiast many label her as. Maybe it was out of actual addiction, craving for that head rush and burnt after taste each cigarette promised. Maybe it was out of self-destruction.

"Quineth! Loving this sunny weather?" Shaun shouts this from across the parking lot. He leans haphazardly against a dumpster, floppy hair brushed back by a denim bandana knotted around his head, and he grins too widely to be sincere.

"Shaun it's shit outside," Quin says, flicking ash into a nearby pothole.

"That's the Quinneth spirit I needed today," Shaun says. "Hiya Leah. How's ma girl."

Leah

and Shaun lazily brush lips. "Mm. Didn't brush your teeth did ya?" Leah punches Shaun's arm and heaves a sigh more from relief than actual contempt.

"Everyone's in the back already?" Quin says as she instinctually shivers at the fearofhumantouch.

"Yea, Tony and Jake. Oh and Clay came today. Just got back from Nevada...Lake Tahoe ya know. His parents had another fight, says they're gonna divorce. Happy days here at the dump!"

Quinn drags on her cigarette and heads back. She's happy Clay's here, she wants to hear about Lake Tahoe--she never travels.

As she rounds the corner, a nail scrapes her baggy jacket and lifts her sleeve. She rushes to pull it down, but not before the burns are seen. They're always seen.