I like talking to him while he smokes cigarettes.

Actually, I like talking to him anytime. He's fun and I always have time for people who make me laugh or amuse me. Anyways...

Standing out on the balcony, him looking out at the yard while I watch the smoke slide from between his lips and curl off into invisibility in the air. He's relaxed and animated at the same time and there's an overwhelming desire to capture that smoking man image in black and white. But then I even dream about taking photos and am obviously obsessed with my camera.

I push my hands deep into my hoody's pockets and we just talk about nothing much.

And a bit about his desire to quit smoking.

I don't say much either way, but deep down I want him to quit for his health. His choice, though, and he was saying the same thing five months ago.

And part of me likes the smell of it.

Or maybe I just like the smell because it ties in to pleasant memories - the cricket at the Adelaide Oval when I was younger, Tobi's wedding, relaxed friendship and so on. But I don't think I could ever smoke. Although I will stay up ridiculously late watching Puccini operas courtesy of ABC, and late nights with minimal sleep are probably equally unhealthy...