Homesick

Homesick

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled a cigarette from a worn box with the label half rubbed off. Lighting the end, he closed his eyes, then breathed in the smoke as his mind gave in, with barely a fight. He didn’t smoke for the fun of it, nor for the sake of street-rat charm– not even for the rebel in him that smirked at the faces of disapproving mothers as he leaned against the wall of a corner shop, taking long, exaggerated drags. No, not for these reasons. He smoked instead for the sake of familiarity. In this new world of mystery and the unknown… it was the only thing that reminded him of home.

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