It was an unnecessarily dramatic flourish, one of those things teenagers spend months learning instead of doing anything productive - in his case, teenagers of dubious morals and in possession of Zippo lighters. Now in his late twenties, he was still in possession of one - maybe even the same one; it looked well-worn - and it flared into life with that familiar whiff of gas from across the table. The end of his cigarette glowed as he took in the first drag, snapping the lighter closed and disappearing it into a pocket, and he plucked the cigarette from between his lips as he inhaled. The trouble is, he started, staring out the window for a moment, then exhaling a long plume of faded smoke before starting over. The trouble is, you can never get all the blood up. Theres always that little bit. And everybody thinks they can find a way to get it all up, but you cant, so you have to just accept that and plan accordingly. ----- On a scale of 1-10, how much do you want to read the rest of this story?
Posted on: Tue, 02 Sep 2014 08:38:24 +0000
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