Violaceae
She's burning. Polluting. All the airways near her are filled same as hers, and honestly, they don't feel too good either. Something's wrong, and it's not the cigarette in her hand.
It's probably got a lot more to do with the body that's laying on the cold cement.
She prods at it with her foot. "Well, shit." She looks over at Marty, his head tipped down, loose strands of hair falling over his eyes. "That wasn't part of the plan, was it?"
Someone in the background snorts. Bitter laughter. That's what they've resorted to, that and a pile of cooling skin.