a stranger lips

i had gotten off of work in the afternoon and was pacing around waiting for my ride home to be ready. meandering around in front of potbelly minding my own business when i hear the familiar rolling, guttural tones of hopeful-despite-hard-luck joined with imposed familiarity and entitlement--

"hey, dude. can i get a short on that cigg?"

i had my answer ready for him, and not just because i could see him coming. (you can always see them coming. it's something about they way they find your eyes from a yet inaudible distance that their intentions are revealed) but also because my response is canned; delivered to any and all vagabonds that impose themselves upon my prized tobacco--

"sorry, bro. gotta make this pack last. i'm pretty broke."

all the while what i'm REALLY saying, inside my head--

"go fuck yourself. i work my ass off to be able to afford this particular suicidal luxury and i wont have it squandered by some deadbeat piece of shit who hussles around bus stops for 25 cents worth of brown leaf that you are too lazy to earn for yourself and expect others to supply. earn it, lazyass. do a dance for me."

then, when denied for a smoke to call his own, he asked merely for a drag or two off of the cigarette i was currently smoking. i was not ready for this plea as it is an unusual one. i figure because most people, myself included, are reluctant to put their lips onto the same place of the same object that a stranger already is gripping in their teeth. but this particular fellow was not of that particular disposition, no, not particularly so. so with a little less grace than my first response--

"uh...sorry, bro..."

it was at this point that my disenfranchised antagonist shouted--

"YEAH! you ARE sorry, motherfucker."

and with that he sauntered off with all of the angry swagger of a man who had just told-off someone who had denied the return of something that was rightfully his, only to stop a short walk later to accost a couple of smoking elderly women with that familiar tone of hopeful entitlement and the transparent charm of a used car salesman that very much needs a sale. leaving my head spinning and my feet planted, floating between violence and indignation, daydreaming about delivering a cock punch whilst lighting 2 or 3 more cigarettes all at once, but settling only for a short walk to the bus stop where i could fade back into the city with all my other vagrant fellows.