“You got a pack?” Smoke sits himself down at a stool, for the past few weeks. He has been a regular at this bar, always coming around the time your shift started. You might have been one of the only people he could stand in this town.

As you hand him a cigarette, he pulls out his lighter, the end of the cigarette making a crackling sound. Turning a bright red as the nicotine burns, he takes a drag. Then lets the smoke flow, resting it between his fingers, as he taps it onto the ash tray.

Sometimes, he would just sit and watch you work with others, standing up for you if anyone of them gave you a problem. As he silently puffed on his cigarette, you could tell he wasn’t exactly an open man. But he would tell you some past experiences he’s had, or just what happened im his day.