Oh what a regular badass

So I lit a cigarette and waited. Was smoking allowed in flash apartments like this? Fuck if I knew. I figured, if someone wanted to give me grief about it, they'd speak up, but no one tried anything. Once, an old lady with this tiny little dog-- looked like a fluffy rat, you know the type-- came up to me with a look like maybe her lungs was going south and me smoking wasn't helping. But she took one good look at my face, and asked me for the time instead. The thing was, I could see the dinky little watch on her wrist. Once, I would've tried to lift it off her, maybe pawn it on Fifth Avenue. Instead, I thanked my fucking stars I wasn't a teenager no more, and put out my cigarette.