Every day I see them.
A woman, I see.
A puff of white air sneaking out from inbetween her lips.
Another day, another smoke, she says... or maybe two.
Or maybe three.
I walk away.
A man, I see.
A puff of white air sneaking out from inbetween his lips.
Another day, another smoke, he says... or maybe two.
Or maybe three.
I walk away.
A child, I see.
A puff of white air sneaking out from inbetween their lips.
Another day, another smoke, they say... or maybe two.
Or maybe three.
I stare at them and say
You forgot zero.
Then I walk away.
A woman, I see.
A puff of white air sneaking out from inbetween her lips.
Another day, another smoke, she says... or maybe two.
Or maybe three.
I walk away.
A man, I see.
A puff of white air sneaking out from inbetween his lips.
Another day, another smoke, he says... or maybe two.
Or maybe three.
I walk away.
A child, I see.
A puff of white air sneaking out from inbetween their lips.
Another day, another smoke, they say... or maybe two.
Or maybe three.
I stare at them and say
You forgot zero.
Then I walk away.
