M.K.Harlan

Storyteller

He takes a slow drag –

an unfiltered cigarette.

There is no one around

the night is cold as he walks alone.

The dark city streets

menacing enough to keep the toughest men inside their homes

Another drag

slow and long

he doesn’t look before crossing the street.

He walks on,

lighting another cigarette

on the end of the first.

Standing out against the dark

a cherry red glow

Like the dying glow of a midnight campfire.

He should go home

he knows it.

He takes another drag

smoke fills his lungs

he ignores the surgeon general as he lights one more on the end of this one.

He lingers on the street

but he does not enter the bar.

If he drinks with people

it won’t be the same.

At home

he opens a bottle

alone

where no one can see.

He does not use a glass.

He takes another drag,

not caring that he is falling asleep.

Another drag.

Another gulp.

His eyes start to close.

He doesn’t put out the cigarette.

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