Fire. Fire.


“Fire”, said the man, “Fire.”

I slowed my pace and looked over at him.

I understood his words, but he had a lack of urgency that didn’t match.

“Sorry?”, I said.

“Fire”, he said again, this time waving his hand at me.

I looked around.

No flames. No smoke. Nothing.

I looked back at the man, uncomprehending.

Again, “Fire.”

The man seemed determined to communicate, now waggling his thumb at me.

“Fire. To light a cigarette.”

“Oh! Sorry, no. I don’t smoke.”


This is my first experiment with flash non-fiction. Specifically, my encounters on the streets of New York City, which are always an adventure. Let me know if you like this concept and want more!

Leave a Reply