Golgotha

SPOOKY. SLEEPY. PNEUMA.

Leaning back against an old, wooden bench by a rain-soaked cobblestone path -- empty, except for the morning birds -- gazing vacantly at the blackened sky. The wind rustles the brown autumn leaves, scattering a wonderful scent of petrichor and decay. You exhale a puff of tobacco in an automated motion, placing it against your lips before you realize it's spent.