I see him coming and know what's going to happen.
"Got a cigarette?" the homeless guy asks.
I nod, fish out my pack, and hand him one.
"Got another?" he asks.
I give him another.
"Got another?" he asks, almost robotically.
I shake my head and close the pack, returning it to my pocket. He turns from me and walks away without a word. I knew it when I saw him coming, saw it all as if it had happened before, and though I'd turned away to make myself inconspicuous, he targeted me as if he knew too.
"You're welcome," I say, but he is gone.
You are a marked man :-)
ReplyDeleteYou've got a pet now Charlie :-)
Sort of like if you feed a stray cat, he's yours :-)
Maybe a good reason to quit :-)
Nice the way you wrote it up though.
Bob L.