She sat with her back against the seat to keep herself warm. She only allowed the most minimal of tilts of her head to indicate that she was still listening, to portray boredom, half-there, half-far away.
“There’s days when I just want to set things on fire,” he mumbled, as he licked the tips of the cigarette paper between his fingers.
“Why would you do that,” distastefully as she could across the two millimetre empty space separating them both, occupied by a broken radio that would only play The Edge.
“So things can be re-born.”