Once after a long day of work and annoyance toward the ugly parts of society, which has kept me usually malcontent, I walked away from the school campus to smoke a cigarette before proceeding on to worse or better things. Just when my afternoon was running along smoothly, a homeless man, Thomas, asked me for one. Immediately, I had told him "no", mostly due to my numerous past experiences with inquiries by homeless folk in pertains to my tobacco. He soon walked over me as I continued to say "no" to him, yet he persisted. Once he invaded my personal space, he asked me to take a whiff from it. I had told him that this was mine, and when I'm done I intend to toss out the filter and whatever remains within in. Still he persisted, until I finally told him, "Okay, I gotta go. Whatever, man."
A few days, I saw Thomas on the steps somewhere in the downtown area. He began to speak to me, then I quickly interrupted him and offered him a cigarette. He gladly accepted it as I sat down next to him, opening my Marlboro Reds and thus providing one for him. He expressed his gratitude, then I got up and departed, delving into the potential horrors of the night.
I named him Thomas, because he reminds me of someone from both my past and mind.
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