Blaring techno music, flashing multi-coloured lights. Times were changing; parties have never been this good.

High on something and sweating like a pig, you left the crowd, approaching the wallflowers with a huff, exhausted from all the dancing you'd been doing.

"Pass a cig?" You had to shout over the music, but your voice was already hoarse.

The skinhead lingering by the wall beside you plucked the new cigarette from his lips and passed it to you, a soft smile upon them.