I had spent the week assisting Grubin. He finally chose to pack his wife's things away. That man does not find giving up to be a visit to the bakery, and how farfetched would the suggestion be that no man does?
Last night, I took pub duty. The bartender knows me, said he'd be willing to give me a try. Most of the job consisted of washing containers and keeping the peace. I appreciated the employment as a change from the.. tearstained-glass prison I call my home, though I stumble with change regardless of its necessity. In between tasks, I took a filling of breaks and downed a full packet of inferno.
Today, stress attempted to play catchup with my consciousness, so I downed another.
When my lungs had reached the bottom of the bottled-up cancer, she sat next to me on the pub's doorstep and asked how my day went.
"Action-packed. I have a job now." I felt no desire to look at her; her body's warmth nearby calmed me enough.
She giggled as a gust of wind blew my way, shivering my face, then said, "Hard workers need more breaks than anyone else. Out of cigarettes?"
I grunted as I opened my Golden Virginia to check.
Her hands reached for my mouth, sticking a fresh cigarette between my lips and lighting it with her index finger. "Have one on me, honey."
I reached to grab the stick from my mouth, but she clasped my hands in her own and told me to just relax and smoke a little.
So I took a deep breath and went back to work, my energy renewed.
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