It was like the air . . .

It was like the air, the breeze, the wind was just held behind him. And as it was held, every drag he took from his cigarette increased the density forming behind him. He closed his eyes and ignored the engulfing blanket. Perhaps unaware; perhaps unconscious. For passers by it might have seemed like a neighbour, a friend had swept a hand over his whole body, his entirety without touching him. Just glossing over the curves of his stature, statically. Maybe this would have resembled his obliviousness. And that wind, that breeze, that neighbour, that air behind him felt cheated. Ignored.