She lit up another cigarette from the remaining embers of the one she was inhaling.

“I’m chain smoking,” she said.

“Oh,” I said.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what do you do?” she asked.

“I’m in the whole web world. Podcasts, blogs — that kind of thing,” I said.

“Cool,” she said.

“What do you do?,” I asked. I already knew she lived in LA.

“I’m a probation officer,” she said. “There is a lot of crime in LA. People do some crazy shit. I deal with the people who come out of maximum security.”

“Do you meet with them?” I asked.

“I do have to go their homes. I go by myself. I carry a gun. I have never had to use it. But I know that day is coming.”

I left her outside, off to get my flight.

I’ve thought about her the past day or so. Chain smoking. Makes perfect sense.