It was a sunny morning. The cool air swooshing through the
windows filled the house with the smell of blossoms and fresh- cut grass. There wasn’t anywhere she needed to be, so Carlie puttered around until she flopped into the living-room armchair with the raggedy Kerouac novel Leo had lent her. She hadn’t even flipped the first page when a knock came at the door.
Carlie grunted out of her sprawl and went to open it. It was Lucas.
“Crap,” she said.
“Hello to you, too.” He smiled, attempting to let himself in.
The Nirvana Threads, a punk and spiritual magic realism romance.
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