Maisie knew it was a filthy habit, one that would more than likely kill her one day, but she could never seem to completely shake the comfort she found in a pack of Marlboro Lights. She tried to hide her habit—no, addiction—from Jack and kidded herself that she succeeded, because he never said anything as he would have once upon a time, but she knew the smell clung to her hair and clothes. She shrugged and tried to rationalize. She had a hard life, and if this one vice made things just a little more bearable, then her lungs would simply have to forgive her.
She stood dutifully twenty feet away from the main entrance to Rock Springs Racetrack and indulged herself. So far this winter it had been unseasonably warm, but the night had taken a nasty turn, and Maisie wished she’d brought her swe
