The almost full cigarette sat on the ground, pristine white paper, just a tiny bit of burn at the edge.
The lipstick on the filter end was a shade of purple. Seemed like someone held it in their mouth for a long time before lighting it.
Duncan thought the original owner of the cigarette must have been trying to quit, held the smoke in their mouth, tried not to light it, lit it, got mad at themselves, threw it down in disgust or panic.
Duncan picked up the cigarette, put it in his mouth, lit it immediately, dragged on it like he could suck himself to someplace else.
In this neighborhood, near the bus stop where he found the cigarette, he knew that there was only a 66% chance that the lipstick belonged to a woman born a woman, but he fantasized that way anyway.
He was in her German car…no he didn’t care what the car was, he only cared what they would do when they got to where they were going.
He sat down in the alley behind the bus stop.
There was a cross painted on the bent door of the abandoned garage on the corner.
RIP KJZ in high viz green.
Duncan didn’t know the person it honored, just knew the center of the cross was supposed to be a living torso with a heart inside it, stretching at the flesh. Not a Valentine-type heart, an aorta, and what were those other things? Ventricles?
Ventricles.
He reached in his pockets and fished out the bag of sunflower seeds that the guy with the handlebar mustache had given him.
What was that guy’s name? Ray?
Ray.
In the same pocket was five bucks a woman had given him this morning, outside that Greek doctor’s office.
She told him not to spend it on cigarettes, because cigarettes are horrible for your heart.
He figured she was a nurse.
Duncan hit the purple lipstick cigarette again, fantasizing about the former owner.Â
Sharing the lipstick was…what was that word? Intimate.
Yeah.
Intimate.
***
Photo Courtesy of Getty Images
Author’s Note:
Please, please, please, if you’ve never commented before, leave me a comment.
Writing new fiction every day is an immense challenge.
I made this post free when I really didn’t want to because I want to reach out to the 700 + readers who only get a story or two a week.
You don’t have to kiss my ass and tell me I’m wonderful. I’m amazed at the positive feedback I get.
I just want you to join the party, get engaged, become part of the community.
I’m sure there must be some of you who do write and don’t share it with the world or want to write and haven’t cannonballed into that emotional bouillabaisse.
If I haven’t been helping by example, maybe I can help more specifically.
Consider this an AMA.
Hit me.
I wanna hear from you.
This story is absolutely free. I want the world to read it. Send it to someone you know who might enjoy it. Consider a full subscription. Support the arts.
The monthly gets you access to so much material you couldn’t possibly read it all in one month.
Thanks for listening, thanks for reading.
Cheers,
Jimmy
How you do this every day is beyond me.
The vivid imagery using minimal verbiage, yet I am there. Thinking. Hearing. Watching. Listening.
Few words; but enough.
Another solid.
Interesting, kind of gross, visceral, and in that style of painted scenery I really like.
The repetition of the question and answer is great cadence and I enjoyed that the whole act of smoking another’s discarded cigarette is like kissing.