“Remember the rules,” Frank said, and took another drag of his crooked cigarette. The thin paper had wrinkled in the fog. “Keep your eyes down.” Frank took the damp cigarette out of his mouth, squinted at it in the yellow train station light, and let out a small sigh before putting it back between his lips.
For once in my life I was too tense to smoke. The weather made it worse, oozing up from the south. I guess that was it, the fog reminded me of the smoky, underground room that had got me into this mess in the first place.
“How long?” I asked Frank. The tip of his cigarette drooped sadly downward, and glowed as he inhaled.
“Dunno,” he said, releasing a puff of smoke.