Leon looks out over the scrap yard, savoring the pause in the endless acidic rainfall. The puddles form and grow on the gravel of the rooftop. The air here is cool enough without the wind’s assistance. It’s quiet. A few stray locks of black hair stream across his face, not quite enough to interfere with his view of the scattering vermin below. He exhales, the smoke choosing directions as random as scared roaches at the first sign of light. He licks his lips ever so slightly, savoring the acrid taste of the cigarette. Without looking, he extends it to his right, into the nervous waiting hands of his newfound friend. Mi-Young focuses so intently on the cigarette that her eyes nearly cross. She takes it. After all, she promised she would. Rather, she’s claimed she already smoked plenty of times in the past. One inhalation of smoke draws the light on her bold-faced lie. It takes almost 20 seconds before she regains her breath, almost three minutes before she regains her natural color.
