It's cold here. That's to be expected; this is New York...or was. New Pork, it's called.
I've lived around this city all my life, but I don't reconize any of it now.

My fellows are more violent than I had imagined. I suppose I, too, will have to adjust to life here. It seems that living in New Pork now is harder than living in New York then.

This city is pale and gray. Can the rain wash the color from the sky?

I wish I could repaint the sky, but I can't even reach the clouds.


When I first came through the Razorwire fences to live here, I was alone. But recently I have been recruited; I am now a Cigarette, for better or worse.
For better or worse. Soon, I may know more about what that means.

It is time to go forth and explore. Wait for me, my friend, for I will return.