Father and Son

A’h was sookin at mah vape as we went up the hill, strawberry ice. Cold, sweet in mah lungs: headrush. Fae that or the hike. “Bad for the environment, they ones.” “Comin fae mr cigarette over there.” “Least cigarettes are natural.” We crested the valley and saw the great wicker body. “Rite of passage, m’boy.” Night wiz fallin. Da took a branch aff an open fire, pas’t it me. A’h held it tae the kindlin and it caught. As the flames licked the middle, a’h heard a scream.

Took mah wee vape out: another sook. “Jist air escapin the logs.”

Published by friggintoby


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