We sit smoking cigarettes.
It has been sunny for two straight weeks.
She laughs at something.

“What?” I say
“Nothing…” she says “…just remembering.”
“Oh.”
She’s not going to go into it.

Our cigarette-smoke blots out the sun

“I’ve been dying for a cloudy day” she says
“God’s a mysterious thing,” I say
And we each take a puff.

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