The alley was rather narrow, with orange streetlights casting their glow.
Joseph Sutton supported Michael Quinn as they walked downhill.
The wind was too strong, the night too cold, and the road was emptily deserted.
"Feeling a bit dizzy, let's take a break."
Michael Quinn patted Joseph Sutton, enunciating clearly, his voice low and deep.
The cold wind blew away much of his drunkenness, clearing his mind a bit.
Joseph Sutton released Michael Quinn, whose steps were a bit unsteady. He walked lightly forward two steps, then leaned against a streetlight.
He leaned on the streetlight, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette box. There wasn't a single cigarette inside, and he crushed it into a wad.
"Got a smoke?" Michael Quinn asked Joseph Sutton.
Joseph Sutton looked at him calmly and said, "I don't smoke."
"Oh." Michael Quinn lowered his head, reached out to tousle his wind-blown short hair, and muttered, "Forgot."
"You should smoke less," Joseph Sutton advised.
