Stand in the cold making smoke with a little bud of fire. Nurture it, keep it living. The cold isn't so bad as long as there is the fire. Keep it going because there are no more matches. A stranger comes by wrapped in winter clothes. "A light." He asks with a hint of desperation (as if for guidence.) Don't fumble in your pockets. Stay cool. Lean forward, just a bit. The stranger with his dry, unlit cigarette will do the same. Like a plane refuelling in mid-flight delicately the tips will touch and the little fire multiply. For a instant two faces will be inches from each other. You will know what the stranger smells like, if he's happy, hear him breathe-- then off into the night he will disappear caring a bit of the fire you started, or if you are wise, and didn't waste matches, the fire you gathered from another stranger's lips.
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