I'm walking along 34th street on my way to Penn Station. The sun has set and twilight is upon me. I look up and see a faint ice blue light dancing in the horizon. I squint my eyes to get a better look, but I can't make out the image. It looks like a radioactive firefly. The perfect round circumference is too uniform to be the flame of a lighter. Maybe it's a bee on a tiny flying motorcycle with an LED light.
The illuminated dot and I are walking towards each other, yet it doesn't grow bigger as it approaches. I quicken my pace in haste to discover what it is. Ten meters away, I see that the dot is at the tip of a long metal cylinder cradled between impeccably manicured fingers. A woman is holding an electronic cigarette. Her hand rapidly moves to and from her lips with a graceful flick of the wrist. Her arm is raised in a permanent V, with the elbow hovering a foot away from her body, and her nose points to the sky, signaling, "Look at me with my e-cig. I'm so hip."