kafkaesque: having a nightmarishly complex, bizarre, or illogical quality.
“Are those, like, okay? I realized I never asked you what brand you wanted. I let the attendant pick them out.” She asked shyly, a hint of pink on her cheeks as she confessed that she really knew nothing about cigarettes. Never in her eighteen years had she ever smoked one and she highly doubted that would change. Sophia watched intently as he went through the motions so fluidly, she could tell he obviously smoked regularly by the way he didn’t even think twice about what he was doing. It was somewhat fascinating to her. The brunette nodded, going along with his story and committing it to memory so she’d make sure they both said the same thing. “Perfect. Normal, I think everyone is a little paranoid about something.”
“They’re fine. These are actually the ones I use regularly. Either that, or the blue boxed one. The one with the camel on it?” He nodded, clicking the lighter once or twice until bright orange flames licked at the stick with hunger. His head rested– once more– on the head of the couch, and he stared up at the ceiling again, breathing in the venomous fumes that were nicotine and noxious chemicals. His lips formed an ‘O’, and he had been blowing out rings of smoke. “Mm, yeah…” He mumbled, flicking away the ash onto his ashtray. There lay ten other cigarettes, which his maidservant had yet to clean up. “It’s gettin’ late, though. Are you tired?”