I sat beside her.
'Got a lighter?'
She pulled one from her pocket.
'You shouldn't be smoking,' I tell her.
'Neither should you,' she answers with a sly smile playing on her lips.
'I'm old,' I reply. 'Decrepit. You're young and fit. What's your excuse?'
'I've got lots of excuses.' She says.
I laugh. Because no one has an excuse. 'Ok, what is it? Your biggest excuse.'
She laughs this time, and shakes her head at me. 'No'. I wait as she breathes in and then slowly breathes out a line of smoke, watching it, seeing it dance before her. Then she looks at me, squarely, no fear in her eyes. 'I'm going to die', she says.
'Aren't we all?' I ask. Then I sigh. 'That's a good one though. What's wrong with you?'
She looks at me with a smile. 'Are you always this blunt?'
'Where's the time for small talk? You get that, right.'
'Right.' She turns away again, casting her eyes back to the ocean stretching before us.
'So what is it?'
'Brain tumour.' She says.
'Cancer.' She breathes.