The glass clinked against the wooden table as Rifa set down her drink. The dewy moisture made the sound dull unenthusiastic;there was no ring. Rifa turned around and looked out of the window. She lit a cigarette and slumped against the window frame. She could feel the sweat bead against her hairline as the open pane let in a slight breeze. Not enough. Not in this heat. The slick feeling under her shirt made even cotton uncomfortable. Inhale. Exhale.
“This endless summer will be the death of me.” Rifa sighed.
This post is insipred by the Tuesday Writing Prompt at Go Do Go Cafe, hosted by Devereaux Frazier and Beth Amanda : “edge of summer”
Photo by Ann from Unsplash