Twenty-Sixth

Earlier, waiting for his train, he'd watched a girl, also waiting, as she smoked a cigarette. Later, getting off the train at his stop, he finds himself standing behind her. He watches her settling her bag on her shoulder, fidgeting with her purse, fetching her keys and shuffling her feet. He watched her, wondering how it feels, the addiction. Does it bite? Does it burn? Is it like an itch you just can't ignore? Occasionally he would find himself with a bizarre itch on the inside of his skull - there was nothing he could do about it, no way to relieve it, he had to just bear the discomfort. Was the addiction anything like that? The closest he had probably come to it himself was his need for coffee, but he knew that that would be a pale shadow of a real addiction.
He wonders if he'll see the girl again tonight, and if he'll even recognise her.