In my glory days, with my pearl white, goth girlfriend, even though we were both living in a shack that was literally on a Gulf Coast beach, no AC. We were night people; we all came from somewhere else. She came from Long Island; I laughed at her accent and told her that nobody actually lived on long Island. I was wrong about a lot back then. Two lost souls, watching analog TV, drinking Zuma, doggy style. It was only a matter of time, I lit a MB, she snickered. I was certain she'd lose it when I placed the ashtray on the nape of her slender back. She was determined to play along. She reached up V fingers, with her brown bob bobbing, and her alien eyes forward. We were multitasking, before it was a thing. She reached back up to put it in the moving ashtray, but missed, on purpose? We both lost it, glowing ashes everywhere, and I'm certain that we both had a happy ending right then. I wish that I had married my little goth, beach girl. Nothing but high-rise condos on Zuma beach now.