What tipped Ray off first was a burnt-out match, sitting on the his porch railing.  A day later, there was an empty pack of DuMaurier on his front step, and then a single butt, stamped out and standing straight up on the arm of the deck chair.  After a week, an ashtray appeared.

Ray doesn’t smoke.

He never catches the smoker, but the dregs are always there in the morning.  He stays up late, all night, once, watching, but he must have dozed off.

He empties the ashtray when it gets full.  He wonders if he should buy a pack.


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