For the better part of his first “day” in the hell city (he hadn’t paid much attention to the things the Imp said on the way in), John had been skulking around as quietly as possible, watching the demons. Sometimes, he got the feeling they were watching him, sometimes not. Mostly he encountered Imps, but once he thought he saw something large and skeletal swoop by overhead.
After several hours of slowly walking and observing, the only thing John had determined was that he wouldn't think twice about taking on a whole legion of them if it meant he got his cigarettes back. Even if he was dead, he was still John fucking Constantine, and John fucking Constantine needed a smoke, regardless of whether or not he was still physically addicted to them.
Did demons have shops? Did demons even have money? He seemed to have never left the housing district, but it couldn't be that big.
"That's it, I'm goin' in soddin' circles," he grumbled, running his hand over his face in frustration. A nearby Imp giggled at him, then fluttered out of the way when he tried to kick it.
At this point, he had to make some kind of decision. Try to backtrack, and find his living quarters, or keep going and hope to run into something else. With any luck, there'd be less imps.
