His Last Cigarette
Usually at around 7-8 pm in the evening, the same man across the street comes outside of his apartment to sit out on the stoop and smoke a cigarette. He’s probably in his late 30’s, receding blondish hairline, attractive face and slim build. I can see him sitting there, arms folded upon his bended knees, deep in thought. Sometimes I wonder if he just needs to get away from his wife and family or if he’s not allowed to smoke in his apartment. Other times, I think he’s most likely hiding the fact that he still smokes while promising the wife he had quit a long time ago. Whatever the reason may be: this is his time. Maybe this is his only time to just sit in peace and stare out into space thinking about what could have been or what should have been, or even, how very lucky he is right now. The last option is usually not the case. I find myself doing the same thing right outside my own deck. I stare out into space, but my thoughts are full of gratitude. I don’t have much, but what ...
