Smoking

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A dark, end of summer night, a crowded bar. Nothing is better than stepping outside for a smoke. The wind was blowing just enough to keep my lighter from burning the end of my cigarette. I turned toward the wall, cupping my hand around the weak flame but still no luck. My hand shot out to shake the lighter and accidentally met a solid surface. Looking over, I realized I had just smacked a man’s chest with my hand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I smiled at him cheekily but he laughed it off.

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