The smoker is the last of his kind in Marumaru. He's got no one to talk to outside the pub, no one to spark him up when his lighter’s on the fritz.
He gets dirty looks at the 4-Square when he asks for his pack of B&H, but he has nowhere else to go.
People have stopped coming to his house. They can smell the smoke.
—It never used to be a problem.
He thinks often of his ex-wife up in Christchurch. The fags they shared. Her mulish laugh and stringy hair. Sometimes he forgets to hate her.