I can see the desperation in her body language, the years of habit stirring deep within her. In spite of the biting cold, she gingerly and determinly struck the match. The cold makes her shake, especially her arms and hands, as an icy breeze blew out the flame. Frustrated, she tried again, the match bursts into life and this time she ignores the shakes and quickly lights the cigarette loosely lodged at her lips. That first drag fills her with satisfaction, her eyes closed and the cold breeze forgotten like a distant thought… the addiction.