Sometimes nights are long, and conversation runs like smoke from a cigarette. In the poor light of your room you could notice it getting away in circles and spirals, like transparent canvas at first, floating in the air for a few moments just to dissapear later. If you follow smoke, it will trick you at some point, and you will light another cigarette to see what happens. Then another one, and of course, another one, if it weren't for the light of dawn rising somewhere behind the window. That's how conversation runs too. Morning finds just a full ashtray in the middle of an unfinished sentence.
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