What did it taste like?

At some point, it must have been his last cigarette. I wonder whether he thought about it like I’m doing right now. Was he aware that it was his last? Did he enjoy it more or less? Did he even think about the taste?

I can almost smell it. I’m at my table. Adolf is at his table. We can’t sit at the same table. But I see him over there. He cannot see me because he is from the past.

He had no picture of me. Today, we have photos of him. Honestly, he left more than just photos.

When I turn, he’s not physically there. Imagination has surpassed reality. Then why are we talking about him and his smoking habits?

Because she summoned him. Who’s she? I should say a baddie. But I refuse to use an empty, ephemeral, overhyped term that will not appeal to readers’ imagination in a few years. She’s a short, fatty teen. With the same sense of fashion as blind people. Fake lashes, fake nails. Probably a fake brain, too. The neon pink strict body is the only remarkable thing about her.

Maybe in a nostalgic act of imitation, she started smoking. It’s a rainy evening.

She may have thought it was impossible for anything to catch fire. But I doubt she could think. We were inside an ice cream shop. Why was she smoking? It’s prohibited to smoke inside. My eyes were not betraying me. There was smoke in the air. The smell was pleasingly unbreathable.

Someone made her notice that she couldn’t smoke. Her response was: “You don’t have any authority”. If authority is the only thing you recognize. You’ll most definitely get authority.

I wonder whether it was really Adolf’s last cigarette. People are begging for him to come back to smoke some more.