CigarettesPosted: May 31, 2015
The cigarette seemed lonely.
As he smoked on the run down balcony of the run down building, he wished to be somewhere else. The sun, usually a joy for him, today seemed lonely too.
He imagined her. Stirring as the sun poured into her windows. Him, cooking sugar bacon. Them, on the deck, smoking, laughing, talking. Debriefing the week and the world. Wondering if her chemise was too indecent for Juan and Juanita.
“Maybe the next one will be better,” he lied to himself as he lit another.