SMOKING GIRL
The girl , she walked right out of the smoke shop, up to me sitting in a small patio in between the strip mall and the parking lot. I said ‘How are you doing?’ She said ‘I’m going to smoke. Do you mind?’ I say no, in fact, ‘I left mine in the car.’ She peeled open her pack and offered me one. When she tried to light it for me the lighter sputtered. ‘Oh, I got one in the store. I forgot to pick it up.’ A twenty-something, a bit sloppy in baggy house pants, a t-shirt and a tight rack held in place, high and snug. Red-tinted hair, twisted and piled up on top of a face that could be beautiful, but it’s around 10:00 AM and she has no makeup, nothing to hide some blemishes, and her shirt, un-tucked, rides up on her waist exposing a bit of a tattoo on her back side. Uh huh. She comes back and fires the lighter. The cigarette paper says ‘Turkish Import’ and it’s smooth and light. ‘These look high class’, I say. She examines the pac
