Whitefish River some sad singers, they just play tragic

The unlikely trio relaxed significantly with a hazy layer of intoxication misting their interactions, and as the lazy afternoon blurred into a warm, watercolor evening Olive found herself pillowed between Stockholm and Coelacanth in a tight knot of gently-breathing comfort. When the three of them awoke several hours later, they sketched messy maybes to meet again, capped with parenthesized caveats to take care and be well in the event those promises couldn’t be kept.