Leaking

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The seven a.m. smell of heavy nicotine smoke pollutes the air and he coughs pointedly, taking care to rustle the thin newspaper in something akin to admonition.

"Up yours," the other suggests politely, and takes just as much care to exhale a thick, clogging stream of ashen smoke. He grins, then, swarthy face splitting into a feline expression of lewd humor, but refrains for the sake of nothing in particular.

"Brilliant," the first mutters, frowning at the cheery rainclouds forecast in the paper's weather block.

"Hey Summers," noted the other, Lance, blinking lazily, "the 'partment's leaking."

Rain strikes his cigarette.

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Disclaimer: *holds up picket sign reading 'feed me, I'm poor'* That pretty much says it all, no?