Fog always puts me in a bad mood. I hate the fact I cannot see through it. Every time I look forward into that gray mass, it grates on my nerves, as if somebody from behind had suddenly shut my eyes with their hands.

I think again of cigarettes. Of how much I still want one. I reach in my pocket for a nicotine gum and start chewing it. A small pleasure. Too small.

I was waiting for a man, until I got the call. I was told he was nowhere to be found. Vanished like smoke, in this irritating fog.

And I know that I will still meet someone tonight, and it won’t be as pleasant a meeting as it would have been otherwise.

I reach for the gun in my pocket as I hear the faint sound of a motorcycle from a distance.