Something told Zo that Til was holding out for that shallow place in her chest to clear out again. She didn't think she'd have to wait long. A shallow pool can only fill so deep.
"You're talking at me like I care about who you have an ice cream cone with." but she catches the flask with one hand and takes a gulp of it. Whiskey always tastes thick at the back of her throat. It sits there for a while. The only thing to do is puff on her smoke and wonder why she does care. She takes another gulp. On her white face it's easy to see the blood rush to her cheeks.
"Maybe. I'm not sure. That's what was alluded to."