He likes to smoke, but every time he takes a puff, he stops moving, letting it burn slowly and permeate the entire space.
We were lying on the bed, and he sat up and leaned on the edge of the bed, lit a cigarette, and took a puff.
Smoke rose and billowed in the air. I stared at the empty ceiling in a daze, watching the smoke rise and disappear, as if I could see the purple sky filled with stars.