If it goes up to plain talk, I'm always the one to do that for everybody. But as soon as it touches sex matters, I'm by any reason left smoking outside.

Since I have noone to dance with as well as i'm void of the possibility of having a full-etiquette talk with anyone at the pub, the only choice left is to get stark drunk and get done with my sexual ambitions with menthol.

I take the last cigarette out of the pack and get into the street right into the indigo light. The circle is swarming with traffic. 2 am. The cars zoom past me with no intention of stopping. The city lives. Well, as for me, I'm not too sure about that. Who knew I might wind up in some godforsaken city of southern China? Maybe you did. I did not.

The cigarette burns my fingers showing no compassion at all. But it's ok, nobody does. Those few people that pass by stare at me as if I were some encaged rarity. Which is not so far from the truth as I wish it were. It's ok with me, though. I hardly ever felt otherwise.

Actually, "I never felt" would be a more precise thing to say.