She Went to a Guy Who Had Better Drugs

In checkered pants and muted scarf Celia smiled at my fact of the matter confession. She was demur, and bantered, but there was a nervous tinge to her words. Though she left the bar soon after, she asked me to walk her to her bike. On our parting I held a lighter to the packed pipe in her mouth. The breeze was strong, the winter chill dipping into the 60s. I had on a brown V-neck sweater. Celia lifted the scarf from her porcelain neck. She stretched it out in front of her mouth, blocking the wind, and the flame danced from my fingertips without going out.