"So, what do you do?" I asked, watching him. He was sipping on a travel mug.
He looked up, causing a strand of dark hair to fall between his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"What do you do for a job?" I clarified.
"I'm in marketing," he answered, followed by another sip.
"How is it?"
"I like it," he paused,"What do you do?"
"What do you think?" I asked, pulling out a cigarette.
He tilted his head and gave me the once-over. "I don't have the slightest clue," he replied.
"I'm a journalist."
"Really?"
"Yup."
"Do you like it?"
I sighed and took a long drag, "Most of the time."
"What kind of journalist are you?"
"A good one."
