They sat in stony silence for the remainder of the time, waiting in the company of a cold uncomfortable truce for the evening to reach its completion. The last words that had passed between them hung like the thick grey clouds that gather over a drought-stricken field and then stagnate there, blocking out the warm light of day, yet withholding their rain.
She stared out at the street and felt the dull blanket of apathy envelope her. She offered him a cigarette; he declined. Shaking one out for herself, she tapped the filter end lightly on the table, put it to her lips, and lit a match. As flame ignited tobacco, she tried to let her mind wander, but found instead that she was trapped in the prison of the moment, betrayed by the quicksand of her own thoughts.
