"You smoke," he says to the girl. It's not really a question.

She takes a fag with a shrug. "Nah. But I can start." With a deft hand she cups the cigarette against the wind and flicks the lighter once.

"Coulda fooled me," the boy mutters and lights one himself. "Where you from anyways?"

"Been around." She breathes her first drag into the boy's face. "You want some?"

The flagrant come on takes a moment to sink in. "You mean?"

"Just shut up and follow me." The girl turns and leaves the boy at the bus stop. He could follow, or not; she doesn't care. Abused, abuser, victim, doesn't matter, it's all the same to her.

"Wait up," the boy puffs as he jogs up behind her.

"How many of those you smoke a day?" the girl asks, flicking her unfinished cigarette away.

"'Bout a pack, why?"

"They'll kill you at that rate. Here." She tosses him something small and golden.

The boy grabs the cellophane wrapped candy. "A butterscotch? You've got to be kidding me."

She unwraps one of her own. "Life's a bitch. Tiny pleasures, ya know?"

The two walk on in silence.