He stood in place, trembling slightly, pulled out a water-pipe and leaned against the wall as he smoked. When the bright-red ember at his fingertips had finished burning, he tossed the stub to the ground and crushed it underfoot.
He walked over to the well in the courtyard, drew water, and washed his face. Then he stood there for a moment, thought about it, grabbed a toothbrush and toothpaste from nearby, and rinsed his mouth thoroughly. He cupped his palm to his lips, exhaled into it, and sniffed. Satisfied that there was no smell of smoke anymore, he trudged toward the village, his steps uneven...
The autumn harvest was in full swing, and the green fields were scattered with people smoking while working. Most wore just thin, sleeveless vests, with straw hats on their heads to shield them from the sun. The autumn breeze swept through, carrying bursts of the sweet aroma of grass, wood, and fruit.
