[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; line-height: 150%; color: #494949; font-family: karla; font-size: 8pt; letter-spacing: 0.2px; word-spacing: 1px; margin-top: 10px;"]mitchell had never been a party person.
there was too many people in one vicinity, a lacking of personal space — something that mitchell deeply valued. too much noise , whereas mitchell preferred , and found comfort in , the silence. also , where there was a party , there was bound to be alcohol and frankly , mitchell reasoned it made people either stupid , vulnerable , or both. he , himself is not much of a drinker. he could never surpass the fact that it tasted like how nail polish smelled. wendy harbored several qualities that mollie had. she was free-spirited, for one. and she could find a good time as long as there was a drink in her hand.
vince insisted , though. but like wendy , vince was stubborn. he'd ask again and again until finally — yes. fine. but only for an hour. vince was satisfied with even that answer. maybe it won't be so bad. in comparison to house parties , beach parties obtained a lot more room. he could at least branch out , let the darkness envelope him if things got too intense. so , here he was , cast off in the sidelines not too far from the fire . if he looks hard enough into it , everything else disappears , even the noise . he likes fire , he thinks. vince has already mingled , as he does.
quietly , mitchell ruminates the cycle of a sunflower plant: seed , germination , growth , flowering plant , pollination - when he hears it , his. "dad ! you're not just gonna sit there , looking into the fire like a demon , are ya ! c'mon!" before mitchell could object , vince is leading him to where festivities lie. he begins to repeat it again: seed , germination growth- "hey mollie , my dad will take some 'juice'" vince smirks , winks.
"what kind of juice is it? my mom used to sometimes make me country time lemonade as a kid - I really like that." mitchell's lips pull into a small smile at the memory. clearly , the code word for 'juice' went straight over his head.
there was too many people in one vicinity, a lacking of personal space — something that mitchell deeply valued. too much noise , whereas mitchell preferred , and found comfort in , the silence. also , where there was a party , there was bound to be alcohol and frankly , mitchell reasoned it made people either stupid , vulnerable , or both. he , himself is not much of a drinker. he could never surpass the fact that it tasted like how nail polish smelled. wendy harbored several qualities that mollie had. she was free-spirited, for one. and she could find a good time as long as there was a drink in her hand.
vince insisted , though. but like wendy , vince was stubborn. he'd ask again and again until finally — yes. fine. but only for an hour. vince was satisfied with even that answer. maybe it won't be so bad. in comparison to house parties , beach parties obtained a lot more room. he could at least branch out , let the darkness envelope him if things got too intense. so , here he was , cast off in the sidelines not too far from the fire . if he looks hard enough into it , everything else disappears , even the noise . he likes fire , he thinks. vince has already mingled , as he does.
quietly , mitchell ruminates the cycle of a sunflower plant: seed , germination , growth , flowering plant , pollination - when he hears it , his. "dad ! you're not just gonna sit there , looking into the fire like a demon , are ya ! c'mon!" before mitchell could object , vince is leading him to where festivities lie. he begins to repeat it again: seed , germination growth- "hey mollie , my dad will take some 'juice'" vince smirks , winks.
"what kind of juice is it? my mom used to sometimes make me country time lemonade as a kid - I really like that." mitchell's lips pull into a small smile at the memory. clearly , the code word for 'juice' went straight over his head.