William was taking a well deserved break after lunch rush, leaning against a graffiti-marred wall with a cigarette held loosely in between his pointer and middle finger, he'd promised Clara he'd only smoke one a day since he was trying to quit before he breezes out the smoke. The smoke spiraled upward, a ghost escaping his lips, mingling with the damp air in a bitter perfume. He exhaled slowly, cloaking the walls in a hazy veil that faded into the night. Each breath carried the sting of nicotine deep into his bones. The residue lingered—not just ash, but quiet relief, a fragile pause in the storm of his restless mind. His black tie is loose around his neck, the sleeves rolled up as he takes a few deep breaths, his eyes closed momentarily.