“I sat down opposite a scruffy looking young man rolling a cigarette. He held his little carcinogenic work of art so gingerly and carefully as he sculpted its form, and more importantly, its contents. He licked his finger and dabbed at a loose seam, his task complete he looked around as he patted his pockets, searching for what turned out to be a lighter. He found it, shook it and poised to set fire to his creation, but nothing. The wind was blowing the well-used lighter out before it could deliver its spark, he tried a number of poses all to shelter it and all to no avail. Finally, in what looked like a desperate act of self immolation he hoisted his t-shirt up over his face with both cigarette and lighter together underneath: success!”
This is another set of six sentences that I posted on Six Sentences.
2 comments:
I think that's a sign it's time to quit!
Quit writing? Never!
Oh, I see what you mean.
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