I stood waiting outside a bodega on some random street in Brooklyn in February smoking a cigarette and shivering in the wind. A small old man walked up smiling. I smiled back and told him I liked his hat.
He spoke to me in another language touching my arm and gestering with his other hand to my cigarette.
"I don't speak Russian."
"You shouldn't smoke" he stated with a heavy accent. "It will kill you."
"Good." I smiled again.
"You are beautiful. This is not a place for beauty. Come with me and I will take care of you."
I sighed and told him I was waiting for my friend who was inside.
"Please come. We go drink." He gestured again.
He stopped smiling looking past me, then walked away. I looked behind me and smiled at my friend. We continued on our way.