One thing about Snake is that he smoked. A lot. You’d learned that about him during the time you had known him. At this time he was leaned against a wall in a relaxed yet steady fashion; his hair slightly shifting in the soft breeze. He had noticed you and glanced over as you approached, acknowledging you as you stood near him with a nod. After some short lived silence, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, sort of noticing your expression, holding it out towards you,

“Go on, take one.”