
After you finish the donuts, you walk to the park. It's a nice night, une bonne nuit. Crisp, cool, just right.
You find a pack of cigarettes on the sidewalk, unopened, waiting under a lamp post. A passing jogger crosses your path soon after, and you ask if you can bum a light off them. They smile warmly, handing over a whole pack of matches, before disappearing off into the evening. Everything seems charmed tonight for sure.
Now you enjoy your first smoke in three and a half years. There's something primal about smoking. Something godlike.