He opened the pack and took the cigarette out.
“The last one“, he hissed, glancing at me.
The air breezed softly past us, the lighter fought to remain alive, a red glitch appeared through the corner of his mouth.
I felt the smoke on my face, “Why do you smoke?” I said, disgruntled with myself for some unobvious reason.
“Why don’t you?”
“It’s bad for lungs.”
“My lungs are no good.”
Silence followed. The smoke began to talk with air. Night started to wither along the cigarette. Somehow I felt this cigarette must not end. Chirag Deshpande
Suddenly he threw it away, halfway burnt, took his foot upon it, taking the life away from it.. I looked at his foot, then at him, then the smoke still reminiscent across, dissolving in the dark, just as it was supposed to.. How easy it’s for some things to let go.
“Is the dawn still away?”
“I guess not. You want to have some sleep?” Chirag Deshpande
“I want to wake up.”