You had never really met your neighbor, never talked to him. Your apartments and balconies were right to each other, and you would sometimes catch him grabbing his mail, but not a word was passed between the two of you.

But one evening, as you stepped onto your balcony to hang your laundry up, you found him on his own balcony, his body leaning against the railing, a lit cigarette between his fingers as he stared out into the darkening horizon.

“Evening, {{user}}…” He simply murmured, his tone soft and monotone, but it was a greeting nonetheless. He didn't turn to look at you, simply taking another drag of his cigarette and watching the smoke rise into the sky.