They are held limply at the side, dull, until brought up to the lips where a quick kiss brings them flaring back into life like stars. Plumes of smoke rise like those from a train. They darken the air above the smokers, wrap them in a thick embrace, before losing strength and gradually fading back into the air.

These little smoke signals burst from every direction, their trails crossing each other, until you can't distinguish whose is whose. Nor can you ever truly escape them or their scent. It is an omnipresent aroma, in the very lungs of the City, which a quick wave of the hand can't dispel. It permeates even those places where it is not allowed.

For those not used to it, it is something of a rude assault on the nose, throat, and lungs.  Though of course, city air could never really be considered fresh. It is useless to try and avoid it completely as it drifts over the shoulder more easily than conversation. So instead, you take it for what it is; a component of the perfume of a city that is an eclectic mix of so much else. It becomes associated with the sights and sounds you see so that it becomes a part of the city itself.

You may not understand the appeal or ever wish to take part in it. And you may never be able to say "yes" to someone who asks if you have a lighter. But, eventually, you come to realize that is just as much a presence in the city as the people, cars, and buildings.

-----------------
For this writing prompt, we had to pick one of our five senses to expand on when walking through a particular place. What sense and place would you pick? :)