The cold puddle soaked into his jeans as he tried to think things through. Logic has no seat in this fight. Black and white answers get muddy in a world of color. Objectivity… Long gone. It was him versus her; problem being, both contenders were at ends with themselves. And the hard wood floor raised a hint of anger from within.
The question arose… Why the hell was he sitting outside his apartment. He could hear the tv turn on. Footsteps. Freezer door. Silverware. Footsteps. The pot once at a simmer, was now steaming towards a boil. He stood up. One hard fist to the door, held in place. He leaned his forehead in and looked down. A deep breath settled it. Down the three flights of stairs, and into the cold. A small group stood at the corner waiting on a taxi. He walked up to a younger guy, “Hey man, could I bum a smoke?”
“Yeah, sure thing man.” He pulled out a red box of cigarettes and flicked one out.
“Got a lite?”
“Ya, of course.”
As he took a drag, he offered a polite head nod, a soft thanks and turned for the corner pub. He wasn’t a smoker. But things have a way of adding up.
Endnote: I’m working on putting this together as a short story with the following…
Feel free to critique. Thanks!