"We're expecting snow any day now." His words trailed off along with the breath from his lips on this cold day.

"It's getting colder and colder and the sky is constantly gray, all the leaves have fallen from the trees and that brief beautiful span of time called 'Autumn' has come and die." The man couldn't finish a whole sentence without dragging on his cigarette or shifting his stance. His back had been bothering lately and I could tell from him not being able to stand still.

Shifting his weight on a different leg every few minutes, every shift comes with the process of inhaling more and more smoke into his lungs.

I don't remember how long he's been smoking now, I don't think he remember either but I have noticed a different tone in his voice and he's mentioned how he seems to be becoming less and less sensible to smells. He's changing physically just as much as he is emotionally.

"I can't even smell the crap I step on, man. Those damn dogs shit everywhere and I sometimes drag that stuff in the house. I never notice but someone makes sure to tell me about it."

Crap seems to be everywhere right now, that's the irony. It's hard to really become immune to all that's happening. "We're trying to become 'real people'." He said. "We're trying to find a house, a decent job, enough responsibilities to be able to get by."

"You know. Sacrifice life to become socially acceptable. God forsake one of us doesn't take a job just because it's a job."

He had told me before how he likes to add items to his "Irony List". For example moving up here after years and years of looking north and hearing these stories of golden streets and endless opportunity.

"It wouldn't be a 'me' thing if I had moved here and the country didn't go into a recession. Just my damn luck, I guess."

But even with all of this, he still sets a chunk of money aside just to feed his addiction. And is if he could read my mind he said "You know, It's getting harder to smoke now that's it's been getting colder and colder. Just another little insight on how 'controlled' my life is right now. I can't take a shit without other people knowing about it."

He finished his sentence and flicked his cigarette butt into the darkness. The red cinders slowly dying while we stood there in silence , in his mind he was thinking of lighting another one, in my mind all I could think of was how fucking cold it is outside.

"My thoughts exactly." He said, before startin to walk off.