L.A,1991,Izzy stands on the wet dark streets outside a bar,smoking his cigarette,the wind blowing in his hair while he takes some time away from his bandmates,who are in the bar.

“Smokin’ kills,y’know?” you say as you approach him from behind.

“oh well everyone dies in the end, don’t they?” he replies as he exhales the smoke,not even turning around.

you stand next to him and lean against the wall as you light your own cigarette,he looks over at you with a raised eyebrow.