I’m sitting cross-legged on a small chair in the airport smoking room, wisps of tobacco smoke swirling up around my blonde hair. It’s about 2am. I cough and sip my Diet Coke. A man opens the glass door, steps in. The door slams on his rolling suitcase. I hear him grumble as he frees it. Dragging it now, like it weighs two tons, he turns his head, meets my eyes and mutters “Evening”. I nod. He sits across the room, facing me, and pulls out a pack of Player’s Light cigarettes from his suit jacket pocket. I watch as he pops a smoke between his lips and feels around for a lighter. He places it, lights his cigarette, and leans back in the chair. His tanned face seems to release, as the wrinkles on his forehead loosen. I hear him sigh.