Smells of charred garlic tickled my nose. At this point, I don't know why I bothered roasting brussel sprouts. The 7:16pm showing of "Drunken Evangelicals" was blurring into "Teen Mom: the Torrance edition", and I was no where near done enjoying it. Two smokes left, perfect. I lit the next to last, curious how this "episode" was going to end. The exchange was between two neighbors: an older woman, and a younger female. I was half-hoping it was a May-December relationship. The baby girl brand could really mean anything. As I continued to over analyze the exchange, the smoke alarm hinted loudly that I really should take out the charcoal formally known as brussel sprouts from the oven.
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