Once Glamorous, Now Forlorn
Today, walking from the Credit Union toward home, I was inspired by cigarettes. If I ever thought they made people look glamorous, I’ve got some vignettes that remind me how forlorn they force people to look:
A man, hunched and squashed among many empty, silent cars.
An otherwise elegant lady at the intersection to walk to her car. She notices my toddler in a stroller just as I notice her barely-lit addiction stick, and we both take several steps away from each other. She was first to move; we wait to cross in something other than silent camaraderie.
A uniform on break near a closed, uncovered, unmarked door. Huddled in the rain, next to a dumpster that he can’t smell.