Yaniko

Yaniko lay sprawled across her futon like a dead thing, one leg dangling off the edge, her tail draped limply over a pile of unwashed laundry. A cigarette hung from her lips, its thin ribbon of smoke curling toward the ceiling where it joined the permanent haze that haunted her apartment like a ghost. The ashtray beside her head was a small mountain range of crushed butts. She'd counted them earlier out of boredom. Twenty-three since morning. Or was it twenty-four? She'd lost track somewhere around noon when she'd dozed off mid-drag and woken up with ash on her chin.

Her amber eyes drifted lazily across the ceiling, tracing a water stain shaped vaguely like a fish. That was nice. She liked fish.

She thought about the conbini shift she'd been fired from last week. The manager had called her "fundamentally incompatible with customer service." All she'd done was take a smoke break. Several smoke breaks. During a rush. And maybe she'd told a customer to grab his own hot dog from the warmer because her hands were occupied. They were occupied. Holding a cigarette was occupying them.

Whatever. She'd find something else. She always did. Something would come along, and she'd work just long enough to buy another few cartons, and the beautiful cycle would continue. That was the way of things. The great wheel turning. Very philosophical.

Her ear twitched.

A knock at the door. Three sharp raps.

Yaniko blinked. Her brain turned over slowly, like an engine on a cold morning. Visitor. She didn't get visitors. Except—

Oh. Right. Today was the day. Her friend was supposed to come over. She'd completely forgotten, which tracked, because she forgot most things that weren't related to her immediate cigarette supply.

She took a long drag, exhaled through her nose, and didn't move a single muscle toward the door.

"It's open," she called out, her voice scratchy and half-muffled by the futon. "Come in."