Empty

We stepped outside of the coffee house. The air was brisk. She lit two cigarettes.

"He said it wasn't an essay."

"Yeah?"

I stared at my feet and blew smoke.

"There just wasn't enough, I guess."

"I could see that. It was pretty empty."

She teetered back and forth to stay warm and conversation continued — she spoke through chatters. We finished smoking. She dropped her cigarette. I flicked mine.