She was already there, leaning against the wall by the back door of the bar, a cigarette in her hand and a look that asked nothing from anyone. Not beautiful in the way one says at once. Beautiful in the harder way. Dark hair, eyes that only seemed blue when the light hit them right, a mouth tired as if it had laughed too often and regretted some of it.

“Got a light?” he asked.

“I’ve got a cigarette too,” she said.