Half Smoked Cigarettes and Breaks Cut Short

“Got a light?” he said, sitting on the rocks across from me.

“Never did.” I said, instead letting my breath act as smoke, rising up into the frozen sky. I was sitting on one of the stacked plastic crates, not much more comfortable than the ground but the elevation was appreciated.

He managed to use the last of the fluid in his lighter to ignite his cigaratte, and blew the smoke down his torso and legs.

“When are you getting out of here?”

“Filling in for Jan after my shift, so working ’till the morning rush.” he picked up a rock and tossed it into the distance, hitting a fence and probably a few bushes.

“Not here, I mean here.” I said while making a hand motion somehow signalling the diner we were working at.

“About four or five months ago. That was before my car broke down, a bike can’t get me to Carolina.” he said, a sudden serious tone in his voice.

“What’s in Carolina?”

“Hopefully anything besides this.” he remarked, sighing and shoving his half smoked cigarette into the dirt.

View this story's 1 comments.