Cigerette smoke

The air was thick with cigarette smoke. The smell permeated the air and clung to the walls and everything that hung from them. So heavy it hung - that when you breathed it flowed down your throat, nuking your taste buds and filling your lungs until the body coughed the toxins back into the atmosphere. Despite this, the character we see reclining on the leather sofa in the darkened room, he loved it. To him it was familiar and comforting.
         Other than the hanging full moon above the street outside, light was absent from the room. The figure was sitting in darkness, it suited his mood tonight. There was a small window on the right of the sofa with the door more or less opposite. The blind was not pulled shut and a pale blue-white rectangle of light fell through the window upon the floor before it. This particular patch of carpet was nothing special. It was a pale yellow with the corner of an ornate rug draped over it. All was dusted with a light layer of cat hair.
         All was very still, very quiet.
         If the darkness-dwelling figure had leant forward from his seat and glanced out the window he would have observed the small beige estate pull up in the street below. The short blonde women who exited the car and approached the apartment, he would have observed also. He would know of her arrival soon enough anyway.