"The ways we think are literally mapped onto our brain, apparently" she said, playing with the half-crushed cigarette packet, "a dear friend told me that just yesterday"

"May I?"

"Sure," she said, extending the packet to him, flipping the top open "I'm trying to resist, but someone needs to before these are crushed beyond all belief".

He noticed that she used words to fill up any potential silences.

"Thanks."

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I'm... not who I used to be. I... I was young and stable once. Sensible and stable. Head on one's shoulders. The kind of girl people voted into class monitor positions." She exhaled the smoke inelgantly as she spoke. "I used to turn heads. And I used to have silence. I knew what I wanted. I was more self-assured. And I could get things. And people ... well, people noticed me."

She looked at him, somewhat guiltily. He showed no sign of being moved. Or of talking.

"Well, no. Not really, I don't know that that's the thing. I used to be home." she said "And then, I foolishly worried that I was  just home."

She exhaled, through the nose this time. "And now," she continued "I'm just well, another place."

He looked at her creaseless brow and puffy eyes. He watched the wind whip her unkempt ponytail around and then stubbed out his cigarette.