Waltzing

“We broke up,” she said. “Again. For the last time.” Each word was accented harshly. She blew smoke in his face. She had only been smoking for a couple of weeks, and she still had control problems. Back at his apartment, there were several burn marks on the rug, melted nylon, where she had been careless with her ashes. Here, where we worked, the floor was a safe, marred tile. “We broke up,” she said. “Again. For the last time.” “Come on in. You want to talk about it, or ignore it?” “Whatever works. Whatever works.”