Old Lady Brogan dies on Halloween trying to light her cigarette.  A cigarette clutched in the mad conquistador grip of a dying woman all Halloween day.  Turning a simple Marlboro Red into some kind of backwards and badly-spoiled relic.

This is a woman who began her dying early, hoisting her automatic knuckles, walking a long agonizing route through a maze of smoke and cellophane.  A woman who lived for the spark of a flint wheel, the candle-like glow of a cheap plastic Bic, and the prayer-like ritual of the very first drag.

You see, this was Mary Brogan's very last cigarette.  And she's not going to leave it behind.