May
13
5/13/09
The man fumbles in his left pocket before handing me his violet lighter.
I thank him before turning around and cupping my hand around the tiny flame.
“It’s a weak lighter,” said the man as I wrestled with the ignition wheel.
One strike. No.
Two strike. No.
”Might I also say: quit now while its easy.”
Strike three, there it goes.
I hand back the light and nod my head.
“Thank you sir,” I replied, staring at the cracks on the floor as I walked slowly away.
