The smoke struck his nose almost like a shot to the face.
Peregeunay cigarettes? He hadn't smelled even a whiff of such things since he'd been in the Emerald City last and that'd been almost twenty--no, more than twenty years ago, wasn't it? It was hard to keep track of such tiny things when there were other concerns.
He turned on his stool to face the source of the smoke and was struck again.
Was he just weary, his mind addled and his memories mangled and mingled by excess work? Or was that--