You blow smoke in his face and he only smiles more. "Just you Ken. I haven't come across any of the others yet."
He simply shrugs and asks, "Let me bum one from you?" You watch as he extends his hand towards you with an expression that distinctly reminds you of a cat. You want to deny him but you find yourself digging out your pack again anyway; Kenny McCormick is the kind of guy who always ends up getting what he wants. So you hand over your last cigarette without too much fuss and roll your head back to look at the dreary morning sky. Mornings like these are the worst, you think, because they give everything that weird film of sadness, and some things just aren't meant to look like that.
Where you're standing is calm and quiet compared to the noise of the opening school. Besides his first question, Kenny stays as quiet as you do: morning smoke time is reflection time. Today that time will be spent reflecting on the dude next to you. You desperately wish you could get a glance into that kid's head more than anyone else's. How the hell does he always know everything? He's like a wise old man wrapped up in a flirtatious blonde tortilla shell. He pisses you off sometimes, asking questions he already knows the answers to; as if the only reason he asks is to make sure you, yourself, know the answer. Sometimes his wisdom simply freaks you the fuck out.
