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Baby Buggy “How old is this kid again?” Ashton asks.
“Three. I think,” Misaki says, drifting down the toy aisle.
Ashton sighs. She runs a hand through her silvery-blond hair. She has trouble trying to even focus on all the bright colours of the toy packaging. She picks up a purple box at random and examines it’s plastic contents. It’s a makeup kit for toddlers. She tosses it back on the shelf.
“See anything?” she asks, sidling up beside Misaki.
Misaki places a small brown tab on her tongue.
“Hey,” Ashton says, “you just drop acid?”
“Mm,” Misaki says, not turning.
Ashton stares at her for a moment, her brow knitted. She puts her hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder and gently turns her to face her.
“Misaki? You okay?”
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