“I have a present for you,” she told him.

“It’s your birthday,” he said.

She gave him a cigarette pack that already had its cellophane torn off. He looked at it suspiciously.

She had taken a pack of markers and written a fortune on each cigarette. Today you will have joy. Today you will have luck. Today you will eat something from a can.

“I can’t smoke these; the markers will make them toxic.”

“Oh,” she said, confused. She had seen him pick up half-smoked butts off the street and smoke them.