Дым, нейлон и высокомерие

I sit back on the balcony, enjoying my cigarette, stretching out my perfect nylon-covered feet right in front of you. There's nothing you can do but stare, completely captivated by my presence. Every drag of my cigarette reminds you of my superiority as the smoke slowly fills the air. You belong beneath me, powerless, addicted to every second you get to admire my nylon soles. Your place is here - worshiping, silent, and grateful for this moment.