If, on my way up 4 flights of stairs, I gotta walk past the (technically) homeless guy who lives in the stairwell, just as I’m closing in on the top and breathing most deeply, why does he have to be smoking? That old man kind of smoking: experienced, multi-dimensionally tangible. Highly, uh, smoky.
Doesn’t he know that’s illegal?
Lots of breathing here, lately. The building is a veritable mini-tower of breath.
I stopped outside the neighbors door to breathe from a position that would enable me to better see if I was right about the crack.
My heart thumped harder.