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I heard that Stephen Kings said the best stories he ever wrote he was high on nicotine. That his cigarette addition fueled many of his stories.. i can see how that is…

The man was obviously homeless, i had seen him at the cafe a couple of days earlier. I caught he’s presences a couple of yards ahead. I was sitting outside the cafe in the pomade. Smoking a cigarette. Smoking the 3rd cigarette of the year, this being autumn now. I was blissfully enjoying the rush.

I noticed him a couple of days early bouncing about outside the cafe , asking question and asking for handouts tofthe patrons outside. I eyed him as i sat inside and knew he was not going to come in. I could tell from the way he wore his clothes. The clothes of someone now allowed to come into cafe’s. A mutual understanding between Him and all establishments. I today did not want to be bothered by him and wished him no entrance this day.

But today was different, today i was outside smoking my 3rd cigarette of the year, enjoying the clarity and bliss it was giving me. I knew not to make eye contact with him as he moved closer to me in the pomade, under the trees of the cafe. I noticed his clothes. They were stained, oily, hanging off his slim frame.


His shirt was not just dirty but unbearable.  I have often wore shirts, sweated on them, placed them back in the closet and wore them another day. I have shirts i have probably sweated into a couple of times depending on the day, the sweat, the evaporation.

But this mans shirt had surpassed all my previous  poor hygiene. His shirt had been sweated into everyday this year, it could not longer soak sweat and evaporate it. The shirt was oily. He staggered into the pomade. I could not tell if it was a disorder or a High that caused his gait.

The girl at the table , the girl that sat between me and him. Had previously glanced over at me in a warm manner. She had a good sense about her, a gentle soul for all i knew. He came crashing into the pomade and he neutralized her. I have no ill animosity towards him, i only observed and did not judge. Or so i tell myself.

I smoked my cigarette

He came towards me and asked me

“Hey man, can i have a cigarette”

I told him

” Sorry man, i bum’d this off of someone.”

It was the truth.

This was my 3rd cigarette of the year, it being autumn now. Earlier i had walked my way over to the counter at the cafe and asked the two baristas if they smoked. I knew they did. They of course said “Yes,we all do.”

After some fumbling of the situation by us, patron and baristas. I got a cigarette from the dreaded, blue hair, tattoo, good spirit barista who wore the cap that was truly a part of him. I offered to pay, but he insisted i have it.

I told them how it was my 3rd cigarette of the year.

” No need to explain yourself, we all work at a coffee shop, we all smoke”

I smoked today the 3rd cigarette of the year, if i hadn’t. I would have had a different experience with the homeless man. I don’t offer what it would be, but it would have been different. I would not have noticed him as he was.

I don’t confess to know why he is homeless, but he did not strike me as being mentally ill. It could be the ill of drugs, society, or rebellion.

I admit he did feel dangerous, not only by the way he looked , but by the way he looked like a shark, looking for prey. I hope he does not find it. I hope he is found by a good soul who can take him in, harbor him, help him, release him from the life of looking for the next free cigarette.

PS.. I encourage to interact / comment.. if you like… like,  if you dont like, that’s cool too.   I write / muse on the go, for my benefit. Spelling errors, run-ons, and all