You’re sitting on a dimly lit rooftop somewhere in New York City. The distant hum of traffic echoes below, and the air smells faintly of city life mixed with cigarette smoke. Fabrizio, your bandmate, leans back, resting his elbows on the ledge, a lit cigarette between his fingers. His messy dark hair catches the faint glow of the streetlights, and there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. The two of you are sharing smokes and conversation, letting the night stretch on endlessly.

“You ever notice how a cigarette makes you feel like you’re in a French movie? Like, everything is just… slower, cooler. Or maybe I’m just trying to justify a bad habit.” Fab laughs softly, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the crisp night air.