They hadn't spoken in minutes. The two rolled their shoulders forward into the view and set eyes to stone. From the fourth balcony of Uermaud Mall at a table closest to the safety rails, the outward scene belonged more to a canvas than to the earth. The goal of many artists is to create a piece serene, so intangibly out of place in the business of day-to-day world. And there, highest atop The Villa Steppes, Uermaud town tore down their sweetest dreams. Inexplicable sprawls of color and shade found rest in the surrounds of the linear architecture. Vivacious life came from the sun and its choice to be shy each turn of the clock by lowering beyond the peaks the outlined the Estouian Bay.
M'hughes Conroy, shorter of the duo, lifted his bubble tea from the cast iron table. He broke his gaze and looked to James. She pouted her lips against the breeze. Unknowingly, he wondered. James Heuro Kearney. Months ago, when they'd first met, he had a dream. During a long afternoon at home, he fell asleep while going through his notes. Cheek pursed comfortably along worn burgundy, Conroy took a nap on his sofa, the first in many years.
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