"What is on me?" Sitemate asked as we went running through the mountains today. I looked over; his black shirt and hair was coated with tiny white dots. I shrugged.
"Dunno. It looks like baby powder exploded on you."
We kept running. I started to notice flurries, which quickly picked up, covering my clothes and glasses. But it wasn't snow.
It was volcanic ash.
"So...are we gonna die?" Sitemate asked perkily. My mouth started to taste like grit.
"I certainly hope not. But let's get inside. And, uh, find a mask."
"Instead of running, let's watch Supernatural," he proclaimed. "I want a beer."
I laughed. "Exercise and then beer?"
"I know, I'm bipolar with my health."
"How about box wine instead?" I asked, giving up any pretense of a healthy lifestyle. "We'll make Christmas cookies."
"Deal," he said, as we walked through the gently falling ash, sucking some in with every breath. "God, I do not want to know what the inside of my lungs looks like right now."
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