Sara

We stood in supermarket's carpark, dimly lit with mercury. He had a twinkle in his eye as I asked what we were doing.
"Bowling."
He grinned, unshaven and darkened from the day we'd spent at the beach.
"I've always wanted to do this, but I was never sure who to share it with. And it's not an adventure if one of us has already done it."
I looked up at the stars. The stores are all closed, darkened aside from the cooler lights inside. I suppose the frozen foods get lonely at night.
On the other side between some painted lines, he'd set up cheap ikea glasses, each filled with marbles, candy-coloured water, and christmas lights dangling in and around and about them. I could imagine, with that outlet he'd found, rock shows and tailgating, under the watchful eye of neon sponsors.
In a splash of colours, he sent the glasses reeling with a cantaloupe. I lit a cigarette as he set it up, so I could knock it all down again.

And I watched this set-up, this regaining of confidence and self-worth, because it was interesting to watch it in another order.

I gripped the melon, wound up, and knocked it all down again.