Departing from the hustle and bustle of the crowd from the main street, making his way diligently towards the eerie and gloomy café, with a white, polyethylene plastic coated Starbucks cup in hand. His fingers were carefully and almost perfectly aligned with the cup sleeve- the thin strip of brown, textured, paperboard. Fingers covering the midsection of the green logo, the eyes of the statue of liberty almost somewhat peeking, through loose gaps between the slightly tanned fingers. He took a few sips and as though almost routine using his spare hand delved his fingers into his book taking out a brightly colored box, the clear warning “Smoking Kills” plastered alongside the front and back. Flicking the tip of the box open, with a smooth motion of the index finger coupled with the soft pink vermillion border- the smooth edge, in which the lips meet the introductory skin of the mouth, he carefully balanced the cigarette into place, before delving into his pocket once again and in one fluid movement, the pale blue flame made contact with the butt of the fag. Little embers and burnt pieces crisped away as they gently floated towards the pavement, vanishing into the air only to be replaced by a trail of vapor, their existence shared in its endings to the predecessors.