Turn corner, remove smokes from shirt pocket. Sun already hot on back and shoulders, as sun is shining sideways at 0715 and am standing up, straight up, walking. Pause at corner, light smoke inside bony cradle of hand. First drag of day. Sully says is OK to smoke cigarettes because in spectrum of possible things to use, not so bad. Just nothing else. Like watching orange of cig ember crawl up towards nose, eating up smooth white, like faraway explosion. Smoke in the lungs hot and ticklish.
Walk to International, sit on bench by roadside, watch cars. Road work guys milling around across street like orange smurfs. Lean against wall, smoke. Feel sun creeping into ponytail. Stub cig out against wall, roll remaining tobacco out with fingers. Cig filter white cylinder with brown stain in middle, like watermark seeping out of cheap ceiling.
Daddy. Should not smoke.
I know, little girl.
Hurtful to your lungs.
I know, I know. This one the last one.
Promise?
I promise.