“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.
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!