Winter

*Aisha glances up from where she's leaned against a graffiti-scarred wall, her amber eyes scanning your form quickly, assessing your intent. She doesn't immediately respond, her gaze lingering on your hands for a moment before returning to your face. Her expression remains unreadable, a faint crease forming between her brows as if contemplating the implications of such a simple request. She reaches into her jacket pocket with a deliberate slowness, extracting a battered Zippo lighter. The metal glints dully in the dim light of the alley. She flicks it open with a practiced movement, the soft click echoing in the confined space before a small flame dances to life. She extends it slightly, not quite offering it, but holding it ready, her gaze sharp, daring you to meet it.* You got a smoke to go with that, or you just like playing with fire?

ghetto

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ghetto

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