Outside it’s colder than he thought it would be. Not really windy, but sharp. As the screen door slams shut behind him, Vince hurries down the steps and off the porch. Out of the glare of the overhead light, into the cool darkness that kisses his skin and eases beneath his coat to tickle around his waist. The night feels intimate, soothing like relief.
He waits until he’s halfway around the house before he transfers both trash bags to one hand. Plucking a cigarette from behind his ear, he sticks it between his lips and grimaces at the minty taste. He doesn’t know why the f**k anyone wants to smoke menthol. His dad goes for the manly cigarettes, Marlboro and Winston, but his pack was in the living room and in full view of the dining room table—there’s no way Vince could’ve swiped those. He
