Deja Vu
His breath was turning into vapour as soon as it left his mouth. Ethan didn’t mind the mid-October chill on his face, but he did mind the unsettling feeling of his winter jacket clumsily chucked over his ever so slightly tight work uniform rubbing on his forearms as he was walking down Rose Street. Another day another dolla’ he concluded, reminding himself that the persistent smell of alcohol vapour in his nostrils and the sticky soles of his cheap leather shoes were merely means to an end.