Today's OneWord: Occasional

Sometimes, we went out. And sometimes, we poured out our thoughts over the occasional drink, spilled our guts like lime juice squeezed into a Moscow Mule, reminisced on what we pretended were better times. Sometimes, we walked until we couldn't see the street lights anymore, and it got so dark that you couldn't see your hands in front of you unless the moon was out. And we would listen to the tide. That cold, swampy tide, etching its love letters in calligraphy on the seaweed-strewn shore.