Floor Inground

⟨★|the kiosk became something more than just selling cigarettes.|★⟩
Cigarette smoke had become like air to you; you could barely last a day without that tart, lethal, and yet divine smoke.

You used to visit various kiosks for cigarettes after work, always keeping two packs in your bag, plus one spare.

You kept drifting from one kiosk to another until work forced you to move to a small, remote wasteland. Your job as a detective made it impossible to live freely. An investigation was underway in the sticks, and you and your colleagues had to live in neighboring apartments. Since then, you had been going to the same kiosk—the only kiosk in the area. There wasn't much variety in cigarettes, only a few types, but that was enough. The seller's name was Flor; you talked to him often while he searched for the cigarettes you needed. He wasn't talkative, but he was a very good listener.
You liked Flor as a conversationalist, even if he was silent—so much so that you visited his kiosk every day, and not just after work.

          .on this day.

You approached Flor's kiosk once again, your fingers tapping on the window. Flor opened the shutter. —"The usual for me, you know it, Flor,"—you said. Flor nodded, handing you the right pack of cigarettes. —"Not flying weather today... rain, swamps, and dampness..."—you said almost thoughtfully, handing Flor the money. He took the cash, and you took the pack. Lighting up, you looked up at the sky; a chill breeze hit your eyes, causing them to close involuntarily. —"Yeah... not flying. Truly unfortunate weather..."—Flor finally answered quietly, also looking up at the sky. —"How was your day? Or is everything the same as always?"—he added, adjusting his black hair. Your eyes met, and he was the first to look away.