They pick at them like weeds. Wrap them up in their fingers. Twist them and pull them. Remove their snugness with their smugness.
His sticky tobacco grin flashed black gums and crooked teeth. A chanced glance, that revealed his true intentions. A longing stare that lingered just too long.
On we went without a word, just a weirdness between us.
Discard them and leave them to wither. But those weeds keep growing no matter how you've cut them.