The smoke fills his lungs, the pungent smell emanating from the stick. Every one who walks by, slowly covers their mouth and nose, knowing that inhaling the toxic smoke will somehow effect their lungs.
He slowly taps the cigarette on the side of the ash tray; the ash falling into the metal pit, slowly decaying the cigarette away as it was decaying the young man’s stress.
He presses it against his lips, knowing the harm that this little death sticks carry, but thats the least of his worries. He stares down into the book, eyes wandering left to right, knowing that the storm will come.