Her cigarette sent wispy tendrils of smoke into the blank sky above us, streetlights beaming their fluorescent light down upon us and occasionally flickered. She took another drag, breathing in deeply, her eyes fluttering shut as she savored it in her lungs before it billowed out in twirls of regret and angst from pretty pink lips.
I sat on the trunk of my car, watching her in the parking lot of a coffee shop that would be open in a few hours. My legs swung slightly and I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat as she continued to smoke her cigarette and I continued to watch her.
Here we were, just two teenagers soliciting in an empty parking lot at two in the morning with the ash of her cigarette as dark as the pavement and her hair the color of a kiwi.
