on hold

He was waiting for the traffic to stop so that he could cross the road. Holding the end of a slim cigar between his forefinger and thumb at the height of his chest. He kept it there because it had nowhere else to go. Nothing was moving. Nothing had moved for ages now. He was ready to wait for the length of eternity as he gazed absentmindedly at life on the other side. There was hardly any mind left to be present. Prescribed chemistry had taken over.