I have this obsession with smoke. Not with smoking, but smoke itself. Smoke is transparent and isn’t limited to a true form. It can take shape of whatever it comes in contact with and then fade away in an instance. It insidiously creeps in and then subtlety vanishes into the air. Yet even when you think it’s gone, you feel it’s eerie presence. Why do I feel similarly obsessed with people like this? There’s something beautiful about tragic things and tragic people. “Smoke” people shapeshift to situations, float around with no true identity but possess a very mysterious influence. Maybe this is why I find anonymity and facelessness intriguing