A man walks into a parking building. He thinks about climbing to the next level but decides to take the lift. But the lift does not come. He longs for a cigarette. But he has run out. A glance around nets two butts, a metre away. One has at least two long puffs left in it. Rapture runs circles round him. He extends two long fingers, like tweezers, picks each of the butts up and secretes them in his pocket.
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