He narrowed his eyes as he exhaled.
He did it out of habit now,
because the smoke didn’t bother him that much anymore.
Eyes searched aimlessly through the fog,
And settled for following the grey clouds as they lazily drifted by.
He missed being home.
Tapping the cigarette lightly, he paused before taking another drag
A car refused to start somewhere in the distance,
He missed the busy streets, the constantly honking horns…
The ashes fell to the ground and dissolved into the wet asphalt.
Others just zoomed by with indifference.
The lively music blaring from taxis.
He liked the fluctuating glow as he inhaled.
Humming one of his favorite tunes, he snapped along with his right hand
Originally right handed, but smoking while driving…
…had now trained him to use his left.
Bobbing his head to the beat, singing with a cracking voice.
This was the best part of the song
Where the singer paused, and the drums carried the rhythm
He missed the brightly colored hand written signs,
What was it about this place?
…their imperfect presence looming above small shop entrances.
Spiritually muted, so void of the livelihood he once knew.
Like the constant chatter of bystanders in the market
It crushed his pride, or what little of it he had left.
Here, the days shadow each other,
with no clear divisions.
Back home, time was a function of prayer.
Each melting into the other, without warning.
The athaan proved an artful means of dividing the day
He watched the glow creep towards the filter
Home was so far away.
Like the effect smoking had on him
Although the breeze carried the smoke away…
His lungs still paid the price.
He exhaled one last time…
The smoke danced off into the distance
Beautifully weightless
I do this for them,
Forming bizarre fluid shapes
And fading into the afternoon.
So they can have better lives…
He let it drop to the ground
Putting it out with his shoe, he noticed a stain on the cuff of his pants
And wondered what possessed him to wear white to work
He hoped he would live to see his home again.
His wife would kill him for it
He worked three jobs to stay afloat
She always reminded him,
“You don’t have to look like you do.”
He shook his head looking at his watch
It was getting cold…
Maybe I could try and wash it out in the morning
…Before she notices.
He retied his apron as he went back inside
Almost done with college.
The usual messy counter awaited him.
“Excuse me…you’re out of brown sugar.”
He nodded silently.
52 more minutes to go…
