#fridayflash: gates

We were talking over the gate; a strange sort of place to have a conversation, if you ask me. But there I was, leaning over it--it was closed. Locked, like the door of my heart, you could say--and he was ruffling his hair, shuffling his feet, and well, talking, while his car was still running--though idling might be the better word. Which was interesting, to say the least, because we'd been in places together before, with no hurry, and my mouth would be running and his would be shut.

"But yeah...