I light a cigarette because I can’t skate because the railings and driveways all zig zag across each other and I can’t get anywhere on them.
I light the cig and I look forward to enjoying it for a good long time, but one drag and the thing is down to the filter and the heat is approaching my fingertips.
I put it out on the concrete in front of my feet, but I can’t leave it there because this is someone else’s concrete and I don’t do that.
I pull an envelope from my backpack – the manilla kind I used to call “vanilla” when I was a kid – and I scoop up the butt and the ashes, but there’s still a grey smudge on the ground, and now the envelope feels hot and I worry that the cig is still burning and pretty soon I’ll be holding fire.