For the Sam Vimeses
It wasn't a cigar.
Eostre sat on the steps of the compound with her dress kilted between her thighs and a badly rolled cigarette between her fingers. Somebody had been rolling them with Bible pages again. She couldn't help but be amused by that.
She lifted it to her lips and took a quick drag.
The Slav had once said that people like them liked their cigarettes because it reminded them of the offerings that weren't burnt in the clearings anymore.
Eostre didn't know anything about that, but she'd always liked something to smoke, from time to time.
She tipped her head back against the concrete wall and blew a plume of smoke up towards the perfect blue of the sky.
Eostre sat on the steps of the compound with her dress kilted between her thighs and a badly rolled cigarette between her fingers. Somebody had been rolling them with Bible pages again. She couldn't help but be amused by that.
She lifted it to her lips and took a quick drag.
The Slav had once said that people like them liked their cigarettes because it reminded them of the offerings that weren't burnt in the clearings anymore.
Eostre didn't know anything about that, but she'd always liked something to smoke, from time to time.
She tipped her head back against the concrete wall and blew a plume of smoke up towards the perfect blue of the sky.