Loitering at bus stops was an indulgence on Brian’s part, the kind only a cigarette could address. But tonight, with just a wintery fog for company, Brian kicked his heels. But then, shortly before his bus was due, a young woman joined him and pulled a pack from her bag. The same brand he once smoked. Hackles raised, he’d inched closer.
Brian salivated when the sulphurous odour of a spent match—now discarded, and littering the pavement—drifted by on a chilly breeze. Quivered when she took a long slow pull that scarred the nighttime mist; then sighed after she exhaled, when the curl of smoke he so desired wafted past, tantalisingly out of reach.
Brian shimmied a little nearer, careful not to garnish her attention.
“How long’s it been?” She’d startled him.
“Sorry?”
“Since your last cigarette? I noticed you fidgeting, crabbing toward me, eyeing up the smoke.”
“Nearly two years.”
“How short of that milestone are you?”
Brian’s grin was answer enough.
“Would you like one?”
Brian coughed. “What?”
“Two years and you’re still that desperate. Go on. Take one.”
“My wife would kill me.”
“Well, here’s another nail in your coffin,” she laughed. “Look, we’re all dying. Why not enjoy yourself while doing it? ”
He peered at her extended hand, and the promise it held. For sure, he’d regret it, but the warming glow he’d so sorely missed would be a comfort, however fleeting. He took the cigarette, smiling acceptance as his fingers brushed against hers, and leant into the lit match she cradled.
Straightening up, and having rekindled his love affair with nicotine, Brian was unperturbed as he viewed his bus’s taillights dissolve into a now not so gloomy fog.
Brian salivated when the sulphurous odour of a spent match—now discarded, and littering the pavement—drifted by on a chilly breeze. Quivered when she took a long slow pull that scarred the nighttime mist; then sighed after she exhaled, when the curl of smoke he so desired wafted past, tantalisingly out of reach.
Brian shimmied a little nearer, careful not to garnish her attention.
“How long’s it been?” She’d startled him.
“Sorry?”
“Since your last cigarette? I noticed you fidgeting, crabbing toward me, eyeing up the smoke.”
“Nearly two years.”
“How short of that milestone are you?”
Brian’s grin was answer enough.
“Would you like one?”
Brian coughed. “What?”
“Two years and you’re still that desperate. Go on. Take one.”
“My wife would kill me.”
“Well, here’s another nail in your coffin,” she laughed. “Look, we’re all dying. Why not enjoy yourself while doing it? ”
He peered at her extended hand, and the promise it held. For sure, he’d regret it, but the warming glow he’d so sorely missed would be a comfort, however fleeting. He took the cigarette, smiling acceptance as his fingers brushed against hers, and leant into the lit match she cradled.
Straightening up, and having rekindled his love affair with nicotine, Brian was unperturbed as he viewed his bus’s taillights dissolve into a now not so gloomy fog.
