[…] The rain kept on falling, drop by drop, on that bus shelter lost in the middle of nowhere. The noise of the metal roof riddled with water rang like a harmonious cacophony in the middle of the desert. There was neither sand nor dunes, just a shelter by the side of a road crossing an empty area covered in dirt and grass. Sheltered as I was, I lit a cigarette without thinking much, just like the reflex of a man addicted to his pills — mine was burning between my fingers. The smoke coming from it was flying in circles along with my sighs, pushed towards the rain that restlessly fell drop by drop.
It was dancing — my cigarette's smoke was dancing in the rain, my smoke was spinning in circles, going higher and higher, swirling until its misty dress was flying around it. It was cold. It was dancing.
In the middle of the desert of dirt and grass, under a bus shelter trapped between the bullets of the rain, I was gazing at the smoke dancing among them. I watched it as it f