Rose yawned as she walked up to her apartment. It had been a long shift: first one patron had complained about his steak being first too rare, then too overdone before giving Rose all of one dollar as a tip. Then another patron had decided to pay in spare change, forcing Rose to count out ten dollars’ worth of quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies. By the time her shift had ended, she’d been dead on her feet. Even Trent had said she looked exhausted and had ordered her to go home.
When she smelled cigarette smoke wafting near her just outside her apartment complex, she stilled. It wasn’t the usual type of smoke, as it had a sweetness to it that turned her stomach. Clove cigarettes—she’d know that smell anywhere.
“Johnny,” she said as she came around the corner. “Do you still smoke those
