broken fff?

this one was hard- the trigger somehow wasn't taking me near what i felt like writing, but i figure that's part of the point of flash fiction friday, right? so, inclusion trigger: flake, rake, break, stake, snake:

he scratched his head and a shower of off-white flakes cascaded onto his bare brown shoulders. she snickered at the irony that in another context, especially in this tropical place in this wining season, a tiny snowstorm might sound beautiful, but this version was simply gross.
she drifted while he continued scratching desperately to articulate something she didn’t have time to study. his words provided no solutions but he didn’t know it yet, self-centred as he was, had always been, she realised now. how the hell she could overlook that for so long? amazing, what the human mind can become acclimatised to…she abruptly brought herself back to dreams of sequins, feathers and beads – no point belabouring something already done when she had plenty to look forward to.
he was still trying fruitlessly to explain things she knew bore no relevance and she mentally shrugged him off – all that mattered now was how to finish paying for her costume. she apparently had the house to herself and paid up for the next 3months, her life back for as long as she chose to stay single, and snake in d balisier to play come monday+tuesday.
but even the costume picked out and waiting to wear since last year couldn’t stop her mind from coming back to wonder if that same self-centredness was responsible for what seemed to be the longest, most unnecessarily extra break-up speech ever delivered to somebody who couldn’t care less; carnival friday, she was unexpectedly free to wine on anything passing, free to get on how she feel with whoever she feel nice enough, free to fete as long as she want with nobody dragging behind her ready to go home when party now starting, and he busy bouncing his gums about his life’s work at stake and why he need to go? she didn’t give a fuck why, unless his justification had the rest of her costume money in it.
she tried to maintain her composure, tried to keep her tail quiet and let him work his words out until he felt good enough about himself to finally leave so she could call the girls. she watched him still scratching and wondered how much scalp he had left to spare, wondered if he had enough to get him through the momentary guilt and out the door. she started thinking up jouvay costumes based on dandruff-related puns, and as she despaired of his ever getting over himself enough to ride out, he raked his hands through the curls that would never leave crap under her nails again, and stood. still apologising, he moved to the door and she tried not to look visibly relieved. he tried to keep apologising in the doorway but she was done even if he still needed to talk himself into it. she held the door open and gestured outside.
“babes, the road eh only make to walk on carnival day…”

walk good.