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There’s a spark, and a hiss, and smoke blurs the stars.  She pulls at the joint, breathing deep, hands it to him, and falls on her back in the grass.  He does the same a moment later, and passes the joint back.  After a few minutes, she pockets the roach and they light cigarettes.

There are streaks in the sky, stars shooting silver.  They wish, and laugh.

“You realize,” he says, “these are the misspent hours of our youth.  Years from now, we’ll remember this and frown.”

“Years from now,” she says, “we’ll wish we had the time to waste.”

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