#henlor.....................

     You can’t smoke in any of these places any more, so she’s been standing by the window to waft out curls of it. Rust stubs her cigarette and uses the tip of her index finger to flick it out onto the road below. The kid at the desk next to Givens’ is gone. She sits down in his seat and it smells like clean, like detergent. He keeps the space tidy. She thinks about the taste a hospital might leave on her tongue, cold and hard and grey.