JesseNeon

A cigarette falls slowly through the air, and lands softly in the crisp snow. The woman who dropped it, known only as the Ruskie, runs her finger along the edge of the grip, reminding herself its was there. She exhales. The night is thick, dark and cold with the sting of a soon-to-be Russian winter hanging heavily in the air. The Ruskie, impatient, cracks her neck with the help of her free hand, and adjusts her sunglasses, and waits. Traffic drones on in the background. Large trucks drive somewhere nearby,  the sounds of their engines echoing off the surrounding houses. The Ruskie exhales again. She does not like to wait. She spends a mo