Evening. It had just ceased raining. Walking back to the office, I saw a semi-bald man at the bus stop. I could only see his back. He seemed to blow vapours from his mouth.
As if on reflex action, I too exhaled through my mouth. No vapours. Nothing.
Alas, there is no winter in Singapore, I realised.
The semi-bald man was smoking a cig.
"The world is what it is; men who are nothing, who allow themselves to become nothing, have no place in it." ― V.S. Naipaul, A Bend in the River
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