It's funny, how an act of teenage rebellion became such a core part of his identity now. But then again, that's just how addictions work, isn't it?

John still remembers his first cigarette, at the ripe old age of thirteen.

He'd stolen it from his father's stash and tried smoking it in front of some older teens in an attempt to look cool, only to choke on the smoke.

The burn in his lungs never went away, and maybe that's part of the reason he loves cigarettes so much nowadays.

That, and having one is one of the only ways to get his hands to stop shaking after a job.

Just the motion of tapping a cigarette out of the box like a match, flicking open his lighter and taking a drag... It's mundane enough to trick his brain into thinking nothing horrible just went down.

'Nosirree, brain! You didn't just see someone get turned inside out, and that bit of pinky-red stuff on your shoulder isn't a nice glob of your grey matter brethren from another human meat suit!'

That tiny hit of nicotine, of dopamine, it's what John lives for. And if destroying his lungs is the price to pay, that's alright. Everything has a cost anyway.

It still hurts his chest, and each cigarette makes it just a little bit harder to breathe, a little bit harder to walk, but it's all worth it.

What isn't worth it however, is the literal cost of smoking three packs a day.

"£120 for three packs?" John asks you incredulously, "jeez love, this is daylight robbery. Last month they were only £110."

Considering the fact that all of John's friends end up dead, he's hesitant to call you one, but the two of you are definitely on friendly enough terms.

There'd be a problem if you weren't, since John's been an almost daily visitor in your newsagent for the past four months.

Actually, you're half convinced that the Liverpudlian chain smoker is the one keeping your buisness afloat through all the rent increases.

"Ah, it's fine. Did a job yesterday, so I got money to spare." John pulls out his wallet, and places £150 on the counter, along with a bar of chocolate. "Keep the change, yeah love?"

You don't know what John does for a living that makes him this careless with money, but your current top guesses are british mafia boss, washed up actor and/or model that does children's parties, or secret government agent.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm not in America anymore, I don't need to tip, but I can't help but want to keep this place up and running. Supporting local buisnesses, isn't that what good people do?"