She lit a cigarette. It made a whispering inhale and exhaled a thin white thread of smoke. The woman smoked, despite that she never really liked neither the scent that stayed on her skin and clothes, nor the effect of nicotine, which was lost after a couple of packs. One day she started smoking to manifest her freedom, today she is smoking to entertain herself. It is entertaining for her to exhale white clouds out of lips and try to recognize a moments of innocent happiness in them. Each moment spent with a cigarette reminded about all other moments, which were earlier, younger...
She inhaled again and in the exhale smiled. The white mist coming out of her red lips looked magically. But it was not the cigarettes; it was her special elite beauty that made the bench she was sitting on so attractive… expensive.
Today she was in black. Luxurious half dark stockings with a black line, shining spike heels, a strict skirt and a costume, which accurately underlined her breast, in a way that gives to any passing by man an insuperable longing to undo one more button, just one more button…
If I said that her face was beautilful, that would mean nothing. The beauity of her face could be equal only to the sensation of a hot chocolate on a tip of your tongue.
Smooth, white skin, without any face’ powder. Skin that would make you touch it, and slide through it with your cheek, to find out if it is real, or to feel how real it is… Just that would be a best psychotherapy that nobody ever offered you.
What does she want?  What she doesn’t need, it’s an attention… She is hungry for something sincere that rises right from depth of the soul, nurtured by warmth of the heart, delivered by the means of good thoughts and sensible words that would nurture and cure her heart… But all she has it is smoke of the cigarette. What an unfair trade…
She smiled again. What is she thinking about? May be about the age when she was a little girl and promised her mom to be a good girl. Or about a little boy who was the first to say that loves her... and the last man who meant it... or meant it in the way she needs it now. She remembered how she used to sleep cuddling with her dad, a man of the strong cologne, big hands and passionate embrace. Oh, how she wanted just to sleep next to somebody like her dad… Strong, warm, silent, sincere…
She is not smiling… Please don’t cry. Don’t cry. Client is coming…
-Hello, How are you?
-I’m perfect today! What about you?
-Apartments are there, how much is one hour?...