She was holding her cigarette with an heir apparent air, and I saw her for the first time calm outside herself. It was as though the cigarette was the gun she'd been slinking around without, and now, armed and yet not quite secure, she seemed not at ease... but easy.

"God, today was a fucking shitstorm," she huffed between the smoke signals.

The sun was setting behind the boats, the ducks gathering for the feast of unsold popcorn. I tossed a handful to one black duck hiding against the dock wall, alone.

We all have our dependencies.

"Yeah, but it's over now," I offered in an overtly subdued sigh.

"Damn right it is."