why?

Every night, before Gravity works its magic, around midnight, I go down three floors and open the heavy wooden door facing the Greek Theatre. It's cold! It's warm! I put my hand in my pocket (pair of old jeans, new jacket, or a demode shirt), as I move it around my fingertips make sense of a plastic/metal lighter. My other hand had far before anticipated the craving mind and was already holding its prize, moving it between fingers, flicking it into the unpolluted air, to lastly direct and posit it into my hard tempered lips.