In the summertime, she really only took her coffee iced. As she took a drag of her cigarette, she wished that iced cigarettes could be a thing. She stood behind the building, leaning against the brick wall. She took in the smoke of her cigarette along with the disgusting heat and oppressive humidity. She peeled a thin layer of skin off of her sunburnt shoulder, her own body rejecting itself trying to start over again.
Her cigarette break is the most exciting part of her day, and here she is peeling off her skin in an alleyway. Look at where that music degree got her. Delightful.
She can see a boy across the street, busking and playing his saxophone to the rhythm of the midday traffic horns. She looks at her watch and knows her boss will be all over her back when she makes it back upstairs.
Walking by the wannabe jazz-musician, she flicks her cigarette to the ground.
God, get a job.