#3

Lux pushed her champagne hair off of her forehead with her forearm as she extended her hand for a loose piece of trash. “This is your fault, you know,” she said to the boy leaned against the wall next to her in a matching orange jumpsuit.
 He laughed and fished in his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. “May be, Lux,” he replied, cupping the flame as he lit the cigarette. He took a long drag from it.
 “Just own up to it, Freddie. It’d make me feel a helluva lot better about this whole situation.”
 “Seriously?” The boy, Freddie, looked over at her incredulously.
 “No,” she snapped. Lux reached over and plucked the cigarette from between his lips. “I told you to quit.” She threw it on the pavement and ground it out with the toe of her sneaker. “Now get back to painting.”
 “I personally like the graffiti, Lux.” Freddie made a show of stepping back as he inspected the cinderblock wall in front of him. “It gives Poplar a bit of spice, don’tcha think?”
 “It gives the clinic a bad rap.” Lux pushed another handful of rubbish into the bag she carried. “C’mon, Freds. It won’t paint itself.”
 “Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, wielding the roller dipped in white paint. Freddie slapped it against the wall and smoothed the paint across the fading graffiti. He cast a sidelong glance at the homeless man in the beanie, shining a copper bowl with a ratty shirtsleeve.
 “Think he knows where to score some weed in the area?” Freddie asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
 “Your issues with weed landed us here, Freddie,” she groaned. “If you hadn’t decided to put half of your stash in my jacket pocket, I wouldn’t even be here.”
 “And I’d be in jail, Lux. No offense, but I’d rather have you here with me.”