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Days First Cigarette

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She walked in a straight line, one foot kicking itself in front of the other. She walked around the side of the building without any sound other than her clicking feet. Mornings were mostly quiet in this part of the city. She held her jacket tight around her and sat down on the curb. She cocked her head to the side a bit, using one hand to block the wind, and lit her days first cigarette.
Every morning he'd walk by to see her smile up at him through the smoke. Her knee's by her chest, her feet slightly pointed inwards.
Every morning she'd wait to watch him come down the alley. She never looked at him walking towards her. She would wait. Until he was just about to walk past.
He would panic that maybe she didn't notice him this morning. And then She would look right up at his eyes.
She looked back down as she gently tapped the ashes off the end of her cigarette. She remembered when her life wasn't so routine.
And he kept on walking, though he didnt have any place to be. He remembered when he would have the nerve to ask her her name. No one would know how shameful he was. He walked with his shoulders back and his chin up. He'd Sit down in the next alley over. Resting his elbows on his knees, using one hand to block the wind, he'd light his days first cigarette.



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