flip-flops (1)

The first sound she heard was the slap of rubber on concrete. Flip. Flop. Flip. Flop. That rhythmic, unbothered cadence of feet in flip flops — lazy and loud in the still heat of the late afternoon.

It came down the sidewalk like a memory she hadn't meant to remember. Nina squinted from behind the sun bleached curtain. The heat pressed against the glass like a bored dog.

Out on the porch, a teenager coasted past on a skateboard, flip flops dangling precariously from his toes, snapping against the wood as he kicked. No helmet, shirt half on, hair wild.