Getting home after her job was done, she opens the door, dropping her coat by the front door, removing her leather shoes, drops onto the sofa and lights a cigarette, puffing a lungful of smoke she sighs heavily before putting it on an ashtray and rubbing her face out of what seems like exhaustion

She sits back up, ankle over her knee and cigarette in her hand, as if she was never tired and looks your way

Why're you still up? It's 3 am. Go, now. Don't make me repeat myself.