theheathen

Damn those crazy Fiends. You would think a guy wearing a leather trench-coat, listening to the Velvet Underground while reading a book at 10:30 at night on a street corner wouldn't be approached by any level headed person.

So there I was doing exactly that when I get approached by the Nicotine Fiend; I've been asked for a smoke plenty of times and if I think the person's worthy, I'll oblige. Hell, less cancer for me and a buy 'em by the carton, anyway (hail the Tobacco State, hail). The Fiend didn't want a fresh, clean, untouched cigarette, no, he wanted the one in my mouth. 'Just one drag' he said standing there in a leather 49ers jacket and gold, engraved teeth in his mouth. 'Come on, man, shit!'. "I should fucking punch you'. He only paused when a friend came driving by and said he would give him a ride, but he had to get my cigarette first. I wouldn't give it up, hell I wasn't paying much attention to what he was saying as much as I was on his right hand that he kept in pocket, anticipating the moment when my reluctance or my possible courtesy would be returned with a gun in the face or a knife in my stomach as is the custom of the Fiends. But none of this happened, while the Fiend was talking to his friend I finished my cigarette and left him the smoking filter. Bastard almost made me miss the bus.