Last week while waiting downtown for a bus to take me back
to Westwood, a couple kids saw me smoking and approached me.
“You gotta a couple extra cigarettes on you?” the kid
wearing a Reds cap asked.
“How old are you guys?” I said.
“Fifteen,” the kid replied back.
“Find me again in three or four years and then ask again,” I
I’m not proud of myself very often, but I was proud of that.
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