There were four of us, and it was nice to sit outside and eat ice cream and catch up. I sat with my back up against the building and it was hot in the sunshine. The coffee in my ice cream float froze and made crunchy little coffee ice crystals on the vanilla ice cream. Across from me, a bottle blonde sat alone. She wore a glittery t-shirt with Andy Warhol’s Marylin on it in sequins. And she smoked, one cigarette after another, for about an hour. Then, she checked her cell phone, put the red carton of cigarettes into her tiny handbag, and left the cafe.