She let the smoke drifted out of her mouth and into my face. It had that harsh smell that cigarette smoke has. I didn’t recoil from the wafting cloud coming out of her mouth; it took me back to a bar in another place.
It was hot outside, despite the late hour. I was sitting outside, a glass of Cruzcampo in front of me. That smell of smoke permeated the air around me. I wouldn’t say I was happy, rather deeply contented.
I was brought back by a stab of melancholy. I looked down into my beer and sighed deeply.
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