He pulled one of her Winston cigarettes out of the red packaging. Rolled it around in his fingers; he didn’t smoke. With the car lighter, he ignited. The spark at the end entranced him and then he tossed the lit cigarette out of the car. He stepped out, stomped on it, perhaps a little harder than necessary – he was wearing steel-toed boots after all.
Tonight, the air was crisp, for once, with a soft drizzle that felt good on his hot skin. He crumpled the Winston package in his hand and tossed it aside. It landed under a streetlight; the light showed one cigarette had gotten away, rolling down a gentle curvature in the street.
His phone buzzed, flipped it open:
where u at?
Snapped it shut. You, it was “you.”
Got back into his car, started the engine, did a slow turnaround and rolled right over the Winston package. He looked back in his rearview mirror; smirked.