HAZEL
"Oh." He laughed, an easy sound that made it clear he found this entertaining. "You haven't been told yet. I guess you're still fresh. They want you to feel good first."
He waved a hand in the air as though dismissing me, or blessing me, or maybe both. It was hard to tell with him.
"We'll meet again, I guess. Maybe then you'll be more receptive to me."
He brushed past me on his way down the corridor, his shoulder bumping mine just enough to feel deliberate. The smell of pot grew stronger for a second and then thinned out as he disappeared around the corner.
"Weirdo," I muttered under my breath once he was gone.
I kept walking without much sense of direction. Every hallway bled into the next, the same marble floors stretching beneath my feet, the same dark wood paneling climbing the walls, the same endless line of paintings filled with people I did not know doing things I did not care about. It felt like walking through a museum built for someone else's memories.
