3.

Next I saw her trudging through crumbling red-brick buildings patched with cinder blocks and ply-wood in deep Charm city. The bubble following her was full of dark smoke from the cigarette in her lips and her heel's tangy cracking on the side walk. Dark straight hair, jeans, polynesian sort of face, and black smart eyes, though she never glanced in my direction. Anyone who smoked today wasn't after the nicotine, not that I buy Fruedian death drive crap, but some people seem to thrive on the constant remind of their mortality, or maybe just the adrenaline push that comes. She smiled as she pulled the warm particles down, the bubbling thick of tar and cancer, and a short grumbling wheeze of breath, warm breath in my face and tugging my lips as she passed.

That was this morning. I think she had a guy with her, I don't remember. I split quick, not much a town-dweller, makes me feel like a tunneling insect- chewing through dim lit tunnels all important like ever single other shining black-backed slicker down there.