Immigrants Scene I

He is standing in an alley behind the salon. It is cold, but he is used to it. He is smoking, inhaling slowly, exhaling even more slowly. It makes him look like an artist deep in thought. His breath comes out foggy, cold CO2 mixed with cigarette smoke.
The door opens and a woman comes outside. She is swaddled from head to toe in warm layers of mismatched clothing. Her small stature and layers of sweaters make her look rather plump. She is old, with fine lines paper-thin on her face and wrinkled, stiff hands.
He passes her a cigarette. She accepts it eagerly, her hand shaking even though she is warm. He notices but doesn't comment.
"Shitty weather" She remarks in her high-pitched Korean accent.
"Yes. Shitty weather" He replies with his Vietnamese.
They stand companionably in silence until he finishes two cigarettes and she is done with her first.
"I think I felt a drop of water!" The Korean exclaims touching her cheek.
"Yes. It rains." He replies.
She checks to make sure it wasn't sarcasm in his voice, realizes it's just a language impediment and nods brusquely.
"Yes. It looks like it will rain." She says impatiently, opening the door. "You coming in or what?"
He sighs and holds open the door as she goes inside.
A gust of inside air greets him: warm but stale, full of womens' obnoxious laughter and nail polish remover.
He sighs again and shuts the door behind him.