Rating: T for language and non-graphic sexual situations
A/N: Just a bit of gnarly fluff, man :) Peace out!
It was Annie’s idea.
“Come on, man,” she’d laughed, smoke circling her head. “There’s gonna be thousands of hippies, you can sell a ton of your shit!” And then she devolved into giggles. Weed always made Annie spacey.
“Annie, money just supports the establishment, world’s got enough for everybody’s need but not for everybody’s greed!” Peeta watched as Annie fell back on the couch, lost in her own world, and he figured the matter had been dropped.
Until Finnick got back to the yurt they shared.
“Peeta! Did you see this?” He thrust a torn but colourful poster into Peeta’s hands, an image of a dove perched on the frets of a guitar.
He examined the poster closely, looking at the sloppy way the screens had been aligned for printing. Peeta knew he could do a far better job himself. But when he told Finnick that the other man scoffed. “I know that, man, but check out the sweet gig. Music festival, man! Hendrix is gonna be there!”