RED NOIR MAGIC

I stood at the window and watched the lights of the night city. It was windy, and every now and then scraps of morning papers flew by.

I thought that I really want to smoke. Fingers instantly snatched a cigarette from a crumpled pack. I knew it was the last one.

The lighter didn't work, and I was about to blame the Fade again, but I didn't say it: this time the Fade had nothing to do with it.

We have all long been accustomed to blaming the Fade. The whole damn city keeps blaming the Fade. 

Fade is to blame.