Snow Smoke
2: 22.05.24
Rory steps into the fresh air to be hit by the icy sting of winter. In the steam-heated warmth of the double glazing, parquet flooring, and soft furnishings, he’d forgotten that today was the coldest this winter - or so the weather reporter from Ohio had told him. He knew where she was from. He had googled her just the other day - wondering whether they recruited people for their meteorological skills or because they looked good on camera. Turns out she had a double first from Oxford - so he guessed perhaps it was a bit of both. He fumbled for his cigarettes from inside his jacket under his coat and pulled one of the last two from the packet. His lighter had run out, so he was on a box of matches he’d found at home - great long cook’s matches, four or five inches long - longer than the smoke now hanging from his lower lip. Before he’d taken a drag, his breath was full of smoke - this damn weather - great from indoors - a nightmare when you had to go out and do anything useful.