The smoke curling out of his nose and mouth was really what she noticed most. The way the dim yellow light from the security lamp above illuminated the white substance billowing out from his face was fascinating. Like watching a dragon from the movies.

“Well?” He growled, gesturing wildly with the crumpled stack of money clenched in his grubby hands. “We going to do this or what?”

The smoke smelled, too. Bitter and sweet at the same time. She didn’t smoke, not much anyway, but the scent always seemed to cling to her, as though embedded in her shirts and shoes and pillow cases long after her more pungent clients had disappeared.

She accepted his money with a coy smile and batted eyelids. The mask was easy to put on, easy to keep up after all of this time.

“Of course.” She cooed, simultaneously stuffing the bills into her bosom and curling her manicured fingers around his arm lightly.

Car-cin-o-genic, that’s what they said, all the doctors in white coats and rich people with nice watches and soft hands. Fancy talk, that’s all that was, a nice way of saying that the smoke will kill you. But they didn’t seem to get it, the simple fact that down here, death came quick. A stray bullet from a gangfight, a bad batch of Smack, a client who loses his temper. The soft buzz of Nicotine and warmth of smoke filling your lungs was a small worry in an increasingly dangerous world.

He flicked the butt on the ground impatiently, and started to follow her eagerly. But not before a slight pause to pull out his packet of Marlbolo’s and light another cigarette. The soft orange glow flashed as he puffed it, and he smiled at her, the smoke oozing from between his teeth.

“Well then.” She said, and breathed in the second hand smoke deeply. “Let’s go.”