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| "I'm not sure," he admits routinely raising his left eyebrow while lighting a dirty cigarette. And I realize through the twisted curls of smoke how faltering he has always been. I sip my coffee, black, watching as the wound up paper smolders. "Maybe you won." Another heavy drag releases dry smoke in my eyes, and the dirty stench makes me wonder. Easily I see how oblique his words were to the unquestioning eyes of a daunted girl. "No thanks," because I don't need to smoke anymore. I don't need to nod my head and smile at the ridiculous bilge he had clearly labled intellect. Suddenly the world is thick with sophistry; but he exists long enough to grow fixed in my mind-- like over stewed coffee and pallid gray smoke. |