I walked out of my personal doctor's office feeling upbeat. I was glad that he had found me to be completely healthy. I had some chest pain, but the doctor listened to my heart, tapped here and there, looked at my lab results, and decided that everything was fine. He asked if I smoked, and I admitted it. Normally, I’d answer “no” to such a question because I only smoked occasionally, and I didn’t want anyone to see in my doctor's report that I was a smoker.

"Cigarettes kill," my doctor joked, which of course wasn’t just a joke.

As I was leaving the office, I passed by a woman whom I took for a beggar. She was elderly—about seventy—with messy gray hair. She was sitting on a small, wooden, three-legged stool with a tiny table in front of her, on which there were cards. Across from her, there was another small stool. I felt a little sorry for her. It was a hot afternoon, and although she had found some shade, it was still quite warm, even under the shelter of the building I had just left.

"Would you like me to read your fortune?" she asked as I passed by.

“Ah,” I thought to myself, “She’s a tarot reader or palm reader.” Why not? I usually don’t stop for such things—I was sure people make their own luck—but I became curious to see what she might say. I sat down on the stool.

"Has anyone read your tarot cards before?" she asked. Her face was lined with wrinkles, and her skin was yellow, like the scorching sun in the sky, which was setting in the west and casting long, yellow rays on the buildings across the street. The heat was bouncing off the concrete buildings and reflecting back on us. I started to feel warm, so I took off my light jacket and stayed in just a t-shirt.

"What should I do?"

"Put five leva on the table. I’ll shuffle the cards, and then I’ll tell you your fortune," she said.

"To be honest, I don’t believe in this nonsense. Just hurry up. If it’s going to take too long, forget it," I said, raising my eyebrows, which was meant to signal that I was ready to leave. She shrugged and said:

"Okay, you’ll get the quick version." She then casually pulled a pack of cigarettes from her worn-out blouse pocket. She put a cigarette between her lips, lit it with a lighter, inhaled the tobacco smoke, held it for a moment, and then shamelessly exhaled it into my face. It didn’t bother me much. Actually, it made me want a smoke too. I felt only a little bad because I had promised myself I wouldn’t smoke anymore. Somehow, I liked being healthy. I’d been avoiding cigarettes without any real health reason, but seeing the old woman inhale so eagerly made me crave a cigarette.

"Okay," she said after I put the five leva on the table. "Now I’ll shuffle the deck. You’ll cut the cards, and I’ll turn one for you. Each card has a symbol. Then I’ll interpret your card." I nodded. Everything was fine so far. The woman shuffled the cards, and after I cut the deck, she turned over one card. It showed a skeleton. She shot me a quick look and then said uncertainly, "Well, it’s just one card. You need several to read it properly."

"Why? What does the skeleton mean?" I asked her. She took another drag from her cigarette and said quietly:

"The skeleton is the Death card…"

"So it’s some kind of symbol, a new beginning, a change, right?"

"Hmm, death is death, but I didn’t read it the proper way. It could be a change."

"What a load of nonsense," I said, slightly irritated. I got up and walked away. I turned the corner and went into a small shop where I bought a pack of cigarettes. I didn’t light one immediately. I stretched out the pleasure. Later, when I smoked, it would feel better.

With my jacket slung over my shoulder, I continued walking on the sidewalk, and the sun, low in the sky against the boulevard, was scorching me as though I were in a furnace. The heat was unbearable. The sidewalks were deserted, and everyone had hidden in the shade. Only I, like some lost soul, was walking on the hot concrete.

I finally made it to my car. I got in—it was unbearable inside. I started the engine and rolled down the windows. I cranked the air conditioning all the way up. Once the air inside became a little more bearable, I drove off.

My car was a Volvo, red, with sharp lines, an old design, and I liked it more than the new models, though it was quite old. It smelled of oil and gasoline, and I wasn’t sure if it was the engine or the fuel tank. Recently, it had been consuming more gas than usual. I needed to take it to the mechanic, but the car was still running, and I never seemed to have time to get it checked.

I parked in front of my house and finally decided to light the cigarette. I tore open the pack with pleasure, took out a cigarette, and smelled it before placing it between my lips. I lit it and inhaled the tobacco smoke with delight. I had stopped under the shade, rolled down the window, and turned on the AC. It kept the car cool. A light breeze had picked up, which helped cool things off. I could still tell that the sun was scorching from the yellow glow on the taller buildings.

Well, my happiness didn’t last long. Soon the cigarette was finished. I opened the door, leaned down to the asphalt to extinguish it. A small ember from the cigarette was caught by the wind and rolled toward the back of the Volvo. The smell of gasoline was in the air. "I think my car has a leaking fuel tank," I thought to myself, just before the ember flared up and, before I could do anything, the whole back of the car burst into flames. Then the fuel tank exploded.

And me? I became a little flame, and then like smoke, I floated up toward the blue sky, where the sun was setting in the west and blazing, but for me, directions didn’t really matter. What happened after? Well, that’s another story.