She sits with a wandering eye and ponders her circumstance. With a puff of the cigarette a stream of smoke enters the room. It tingles her nostrils and hits her head with a high she has gotten used to.
“Can you tell me something?” She asks as she pulls the camel away from her lips.
“What?” I reply, half expecting the question.
“If life is this random set of circumstances why do we put so much value into things? Shouldn’t we realize that these relationships are just passing connections? Fleeting responses to the emotions of the moment?”
I have no clue but crave to find her comfort. I don’t say anything: I sigh, refill her drink and sit back down. She’s always like this when she’s high.