Two Fifty and More.
She sat on the steps. Cigarette in her right hand, her point five in another, her leather bound book placed on her lap. She leaned forward, her long hair hovered softly around her face as the wind blew. She, slowly scrawling away feverish words.
It was her first time taking a smoke, the pack she stole off her brother. She had no idea of what to do past lighting up. So she just held it there as the burn ate away the stick, leaving a trail of ashes.
Everything was so intense around her. She had to get out. It wasn’t as raw or sharp like the first time she thought to herself, more dull and jagged but still a surmountable amount of frustrations and what ifs gnawed her insides like rats. She added pressure to her point five, creating a relief of words.
A man, mid 20’s, shirt smartly tucked into tapered pants, with the prettiest girly eyes, and the darkest hair walked up the steps past her. She gave him a sidelong glance beneath her lashes and sighed.