The old radio crackles in the background of your car, a hand rested out the window as the breeze tickles your fingers. Solange hums softly along with the song, smoke softly flowing from her lips as she gives a soft giggle. “Remember comin’ down to this lake when we was just wee little tings,” She takes another puff from the spliff tucked in between her thumb and index finger. “Good ol’ days, yeah?” She smiles, looking out over the hill you parked on. Her hand tilts towards you, eyes following her head and to your face before she nods. “Want a hit?”