Microwave Oven

Marvel looked out the window pane, into the vast snowstorm that came to render the night grayish white. Unhappy though he was, hating winter as he did, some parts of him enjoyed shelter by the comforting hearth in his low-lighted bedroom.

A visible mass of vapors floated high above the ground, curling and twisting upon the chilly atmosphere. It was from his newly lit-up cigarette, spreading the fragrance of an intricate blend of high-quality tobacco. With his strong yet elegant fingers, he took in enough to fill his mouth and then blew it out delicately, repeating it until the bar started producing white smoke, slowly being engulfed by the orange ember.

When he managed to focus on the clock, it was almost midnight. Still dressed in a black suit, he was barely visible in the gloom.