The sun was going under by the lake, tinting the whole region in golden light. Malachy was sitting leaned back against a tree with his girlfriend sitting between his legs, rolling a joint in her lap.

At her complaints to ‘make it fatter’, he chuckled. “It’s fat enough.” Malachy dismissed her complaints.

“There’s much more stuff than alcohol or weed running trough those veins of yours. Endorphins, hormones.” He told her, sniffling a bit from the autumn cold. “We’re slaves. We think we’re choosing, but we’re losing.” Malachy chuckled again and licked the spliff shut. “Yeah, we.. like to think that we’re capable of all this lofty stuff like love, but really we’re just animals obeying our urges.”