She took a drag from her cigarette, she was working on perfecting her technique. She was now a pro, she could inhale without choking on the smoke, a true sign of an amateur. She'd been in her room for hours, had used up half a pack just trying to get it down right. A soapstone ashtray sat to her right, it was full of the remnants of her newest project. It might seem silly, but no one wants to look like a fool. Her mouth felt like a desert, and she liked that, she closed her eyes and pictured miles of sand, there was something terribly appealing about the idea of nothing, nothing at all just herself, the sand, and whatever sort of little creatures there are around in the desert.
(a prompt a day)