000000 #human He produced not the cosmetically cosmopolitan smokes I had expected, but a pack of ordinary Marlboros. A yellow Bic appeared in his hand. He spun the wheel, the flint scraped, the spark jumped, the gas hissed, the svelte flame danced its brief life away, yearning towards the tip of the cigarette, convulsed once, twice, and flickered out of existence. The young man leaned back with a look of greater contentment than I had ever seen.