Noah's eyebrows rose as the girl gave him smirk over her well-oiled shoulder. He inhaled once more, held his breath, and held the thing out to her without a word.
To be fair, Noah had been smoking since he was a kid - 12, maybe. He was told routinely over the years, by strangers and acquaintances alike, the hazards of his habit. But he didn't give a shit. He worked at a bar. - His life was doomed to end early as it was. Why waste it on trying to be a "good" person?