Sara

Storms are brewing.

*I look up at the darkening sky and rub my shoulder.* Yeah, feels like a pressure change in the air. *I sigh and light a cigar.* These old bones are like a weathervane.

*I chuckle softly, the sound catching in my throat as a sudden gust of wind whips through the air.* You and your old bones. *I lean into the wind, my eyes narrowing.* But you're right. Something's coming.