She sat in the empty playground, her knees carelessly mashed together, and rocked back and forth in the middle swing. One hand pursed her short, plaid uniform skirt between her thighs while the other expertly balanced a cigarette between two fingers. Thin geysers of filtered carbon monoxide, rat poison and whatever else could kill her poured from her nostrils.
Darren, her boyfriend sat several yards away from her, on his beat-up Vespa, bored out of his mind; he stared blankly at the crowded grey sky, full of clouds, steel mill blow-off and other industrial machinations. He exhaled sharply.
She didn’t give a shit about Darren, he could wait. Her brother couldn’t. There was no way he would understand. He might not still. So, she waited, sucking calmly on her vice, blowing out smoke and rocked slowly while her boyfriend stared impatiently up at the soulless fog and chomped on his bottom lip.