more of a feeling

Alice, while sketching the view of the rooftops through the attic window, squeezed a small amount of Tunisian chili paste, newly bought from the only convenience store open on Easter Sunday, onto her finger with a total lack of self-consciousness. She sucked at it slowly; she said she likes the way the spiciness becomes less of a taste and more of a feeling.

There were candles stuck into wine bottles placed haphazardly around the attic room in a way that was not cliché because it was necessary: necessary for light, heat, and maintaining the glow that we all felt in the pits of our ribs.