Rain.
The sharp tang of fresh paint hits my nose as I climb down the stepladder, roller in hand, and begin slathering sage green across the wall in long, aggressive strokes.
The apartment is a f*****g mess with drop cloths crumpled everywhere, ladders leaning against walls, and paint cans of cream and sage scattered all around.
I’m in my ratty old tank top and cutoff shorts, both already splattered with paint and my hair’s shoved into a messy bun that’s coming undone the more I work.
Sunlight pours through the bare windows, at least making the place feel alive.
Emma is beside me humming some off-key pop song while she fumbles with a brush on the trim, doing her best not to f**k it up completely.
We’ve been at this for hours, and somewhere between the second coat and the third, I tell
