June thought of her father’s last phone call. The way he said “I’ll be there Saturday” three times in a row, as if repeating it would make it true.
The Fool opened her eyes. They were the color of wet asphalt after a storm—no, wait. They shifted. Gold. Green. A sad kind of brown. Warpaint - The Fool -Deluxe Edition- -2011-
That’s when she heard the bassline. Low, patient, almost threatening. It wasn’t coming from a house. It was coming from the cul-de-sac’s dead end, where the streetlights gave up and the wild fennel took over. June thought of her father’s last phone call
“The warpaint.” The Fool tapped her temple. “In your head. The sound you make when you’re trying to be brave but you’re really just a fool.” They were the color of wet asphalt after a storm—no, wait
The first time June saw the Fool, she was washing her mother’s car in the dark.