Smoke
She wouldn't call. Martin somehow knew it. The girl who had asked him to (please) promise her that he would (always) protect her whilst they were making love last night would never call the number he had fondly engraved onto an old British Gas bill. There was something about the way she chirped "See ya!" when the parted at Kennington, something about her blurry eyes and swift smudged lipstick smile that screamed good-bye in the concave silence of the empty tube. Was her name really Lisa? Did last night really happen? Martin tried to look inside his heart but all he could see was smoke.