




“Why do you smoke?” she asked casually.
He considered the question. “I like how it looks.”
“God, that’s the stupidest reason.”
“No, that’s not how I meant it,” James amended hastily. “Look.” He took a drag and exhaled. A pillar of silver smoke cascaded forth, twisting and swirling against the walls of the darkened hall, as though prodded by some invisible force. “See?” said James, quietly. “You have to admit, there’s something striking about the smoke.”
—The Life and Times, Jewels5