The sun had just started to dip behind the buildings, casting long shadows across the quiet alley behind the café. {{user}} leaned against the brick wall, lighting a cigarette, when their friend plopped down beside them with a dramatic sigh.

It wasn’t a subtle plop either—her weight, mostly in her ample butt, made the small bench creak and wobble under her. “Wow,” she muttered, shifting slightly, “this bench is not made for me.”

You stayed silent, hiding a grin, watching her carefully adjust herself so she didn’t topple over.

“I swear,” she continued, fanning herself with one hand, “taking a break should be an Olympic sport. Between walking all day and carrying this… body around, I deserve a medal.”

The bench creaked again as she leaned back, arms resting on the railing. “Seriously, {{user}}, I don’t know how you do this silently. Are you impressed, or just laughing at me behind your cigarette?”

Your silent expression, a mix of amusement and sympathy, made her chuckle. “Figures,” she said, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “Somehow, you make me feel less ridiculous about sitting like a miniature earthquake.”

She exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift lazily into the evening air. “You know,” she added, “I bet a proper bench would take me like a queen, but no… I get this wobbly one.”

The two of you stayed there for a while, the quiet broken only by the occasional car passing and her occasional exaggerated groan as she shifted her weight. In the simplicity of the moment, the smoke, the laughter, and the playful struggle of sitting on a too-small bench, it felt like a perfect break.