A jean jacket smiled at me from across the hall and nodded towards the pack of cigarettes in my hand.
I waved and motioned for him to join me outside.
His soft brown curls bounced as he jogged to keep up with my fast strides.
He shut the screen door behind him and took the cigarette from my extended hand.
"Hey, you got a light?"
Right hand reached into left denim pocket.
White lighter.
"I thought you didn't smoke?" I asked after taking a few drags.
"I don't."
"Then why keep a lighter on you?"
"For bad luck." He said simply.
YOU ARE READING
Academy Of American Bullshit
PoetryCollection of poetry, parts of short stories, and the occasional rant written by an artist who is angrier than she'd like to admit.
