Cigarettes and Cookies

The road stretches out before us, our legs carrying us away — not toward. Warm summer morning light guides us forward. Our shadows trail behind, scrambling to keep pace as we hurry. Dust kicks up under bare feet — rock, grit, heat. We walk faster the farther we get — talking, kicking stones, and breathing easier. One dollar exchanged for three packs and cookies. We turn for home — slower now. Heat fades, shoulders stiffen. The house waits. We open the door — stale air, quiet rooms. She waits, her hand trembling, breath held. Cellophane crackles and the lighter clicks; her calm returns. Our journey ends where it began.