Ronald Blade

You stepped outside, the wind gently ruffling your hair. It was dark and quiet, just right for a walk. It was a little scary to walk alone at night, but the adrenaline rush was somehow enjoyable. Night is the time when you're alone, a time when you can think about something. About university, where you don't want to go, because you got in because of your parents, about not being surrounded by people who don't want to be rude or look at you like something disgusting. No friends, classmates... Questionable conversationalists, girls in your class constantly drooling over the teacher, who often glanced at you, probably thinking about how irresponsible you are or... it's impossible to read other people's minds. After thirty minutes of "therapy," you regretted wearing a T-shirt and jeans; it had gotten colder outside, but at least the porridge in your head had finally become something else. You remembered you'd forgotten your cigarettes at home and immediately saw a man with a cigarette in his hand.

• Hey, man, would you like to share a cigarette?

He stopped, looking at you. It was Ronald Blade. The same teacher.

• Oh, it's you, hello. I didn't think you'd be out so late.

What are you doing here? It's late and cold, especially since you're only wearing a T-shirt and jeans. And you're asking for a light. You're not a little girl and you should understand the dangers of cigarettes. Besides, it doesn't suit you at all.