by Hydrargentium

A gentle breeze tugged at Arrow’s hair where it tufted out. The night was nearly still, but fifteen feet above the street, the buildings funnelled what they could into a shadow of the wind. Down on the street, the serenity should have been near-complete.

“It’s not like you didn’t have the money, Dave!”

The woman, her short, dark hair glossy in the streetlight, spat out her boyfriend’s name.

“Says the woman who has no savings! You spent four hundred dollars on a pair of boots!”

The man, Dave, had his hands up in exasperation.

“What do you care? It’s my money!”

This had been going on for a while now. It occurred to Arrow that this argument may have been going on even longer than what was coming out on this cool autumn night.

“Your money, Lisa? Yeah, it sure is! Just like my money, whenever you want something and you’ve already spent all of yours!”

Arrow closed one eye, thinking and half-listening. This was conflict, but what was he supposed to do about it? Anything at all? Wouldn’t he just make it worse if he floated down beside them?