Karen’s first kiss tasted like cigarettes, and liquorice from the newsagent’s on the corner.
He was in sixth year, two years her senior and oddly handsome beneath the hood of his baggy jumper despite the large zit on his nose. It was a dare, executed clumsily while their audience sat perched along the wall, sniggering and nudging one another.
She spent the next week sat on the back porch with a pack of cigarettes she stole from her brother, choking down burning lungfuls of smoke and eating liquorice until her tongue turned black.
The taste was never quite the same.
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