Bumming A Smoke by Ian McIntire

---She leaves the convenience store a few paces ahead of me, carrying a newly purchased pack of cigarettes. She’s quite attractive, really; long, dark hair, tall frame, short skirt, shapely body, grey eyes with a hint of a smile behind them. Another log to throw on the old libido fire.
---I show the cashier the bottle of ginger ale I’m holding, and receive a terse “99” in response. I hand my last dollar over and receive a penny in change. I’m lucky my bus pass hasn’t expired yet, or I wouldn’t be able to afford the soda right now. The penny goes into one of my pockets, right next to the aforementioned bus pass, as I make plans to get to the ATM after I finish at the bookstore.
---I leave the store, noting that the sun has come out from behind the clouds since I’ve been in there. Turning toward the bus shelter, I notice that the attractive cigarette buyer is sitting on the bench, probably waiting for the same bus I am. I smile inwardly: there are much less appealing people to share a few minutes with.
---A man stands in the shelter, but he obviously has no connection with the woman. Thinking back, I seem to recall seeing him waiting in the shelter before I went into the store. He’s a professional type: briefcase, tight tie, three-piece suit, glasses, and tension that’s probably given him an ulcer and a reduced life expectancy. Or at least depleted his immune system to the point where bacteria will give him an ulcer. He’s smoking a cigarette, while the woman isn’t. I imagine that she’s decided she can make do with the second-hand smoke for now.
---I don’t smoke, but I don’t have much objection to other people doing it around me. Live and let live, I guess. After all, it’s their money they’re throwing away, not mine.
---About ten, fifteen meters from the shelter, there’s another man. Obviously not too well off, wearing a distressed sweatshirt proudly proclaiming him to be a ”Philadelphia Phillies Philly Phanatic Phan,” dirty sneakers, old baseball cap and camouflage pants. I’m always amazed when people wear camouflage in the middle of a city - it’s not like it’s making them any harder to spot.
---The Phan strolls to the shelter and asks, “Excuse, but could I borrow a cigarette?” I’m about to say “Sorry, I don’t smoke” when the professional explodes. “Look I already told you, no!” Phan responds quickly with “I wasn’t asking you, alright? I was talkin’ to the lady!” The professional shrugs and turns away, while the woman opens up her purse and removes the pack of cigarettes. She fumbles with the cellophane wrapper for a few moments, then finally bites it off. Her fingers (short, unpainted nails) pry open the box and remove a cigarette, which she then holds out to the Phan.
---He takes the cigarette silently before turning again to the professional. “What is your problem, anyway?” The Phan wanders out of the shelter toward the store, exiting a few moments later with one of their complimentary matchbooks. As he lights the cigarette, he walks toward the spot where he’d been waiting before I left the store.
---A minute or two passes. The professional checks his watch (expensive), while the woman removes a paperback (Star Trek) from her purse and begins to read. I finally remember the bottle of ginger ale, open it, and begin to drink.
---The Phan wanders back to the shelter. “I mean, I was just askin’ for a cigarette. It’s not like I was trying to mug you. What the fuck is wrong with you?” The woman and I look up for an instant, while the professional pointedly ignores him. He wanders back to his perch.
---A watch ticks, a page turns, the bottle drains a bit. A bus stops, but it’s a 56, not an 8. None of us gets on.
---The Phan returns. “You better not be getting on the same bus I am. You hear me, motherfucker? You do and I’ll kick your ass so bad...” I get the impression that he’d been trying to work out a way to finish the sentence, but just trailed off. This time, the woman and I ignore him as well.
---It looks like the Phan no longer wants to remain still. Instead of leaning against the wall of the building, he’s just wandering about in a holding pattern. Every so often, he comes back and resumes venting his spleen. “Listen, you piece of shit. You want to take me on? You want to try something? Right now! C’mon, shithead, I’m waiting! I thought so, you fucking coward. Just don’t try anything. You get on the same bus, and your ass is mine, your hear!”
---I finish my bottle of ginger ale and exit the shelter to throw the empty away. The Phan is still hovering nearby. I look down the street, wondering where the 8 is. I slip on my sunglasses. As I return to the bench inside the shelter, I notice that another woman has entered the shelter, and taken a seat on the opposite end of the bench. The professional is surreptitiously trying to keep an eye on the Phan. A little bored, I run an appreciative, hopefully subtle, glance across the original woman’s legs. She’s got a tattoo on one of her ankles, and when she crosses her legs, I can read it more clearly.
---“Hey, listen motherfucker. You see that bridge down there?” I know from experience that there’s an underpass about 500 meters down the road, so I assume that that’s where the Phan is pointing. The tattoo is quite well done, some sort of ivy/thorn motif running like an anklet around the woman’s leg. “I know four or five guys down there. You come around here again and all of us’ll just beat the fucking shit out of you. Fuck your ass and leave you for dead.”
---The initials “RFF” are intertwined into the ivy, carved delicately into her smooth, fragrant skin. “I bet you’d fuckin’ like that wouldn’t you, you cocksucker?” A man made work of art on a natural work of art. I raise my eyes, looking down the road, pleading for the 8 to come. I think I see a vehicle that could be a bus, but it’s tough to tell at this distance. I wonder if she’s got any more tattoos, and if so, where.
---I quickly glance back the opposite way, eastward, toward my destination. I try to make it look like I’m curious if any buses are running the opposite way, but I spare a quick glance to make sure the Phan’s back in his holding pattern.
---“What is his problem?” the new woman asks. I turn my head back. The tattooed woman explains sketchily. The professional sighs, and the tattooed woman adjusts a bra strap through her blouse. The vehicle in the distance most definitely is a bus, and the Phan has wandered over once again. “I swear to you, motherfucker, if you get on the same bus as I do, you’re fucking dead. Dead, or wishing you were. You hear me?” The professional exits the shelter, heading in the opposite direction of the Phan’s perch. I look at my watch, and then consult my bus pass. It won’t expire for another hour. I’m safe. The Phan remains inside the shelter this time.
---I remove my shades and look towards the bus, trying to make out what the number on its front is. It looks like an “8”. I get the pass ready while the tattooed woman uncrosses her legs and stands up. Nice ass,too.
---The Phan shakes his head in disbelief. “Some people,” he comments. The second woman stands up as the bus comes to a halt in front of the shelter. It is an 8. The Phan clambers on, dumping a pocketful of change into the ticket machine. I let the women get on before me, partly out of chivalry and partly because I enjoy the view. As I step onto the bus behind them, ---I see the professional exiting the convenience store at a jog. He makes it on right behind me as I insert my pass into the machine’s reader. The word “Accepted” flashes across its LED, and it spits the thing back out at me. I leave it there.
---The tattooed woman has taken a seat about midway back, and I choose one directly across the aisle from her. I rest my back against the window and watch her continue the paperback. She drops her purse to the floor beside her. The Phan has already found a seat next to someone several seats up from where I’m sitting, and has begun a conversation with his uninterested neighbor. The bus doors close, and the driver applies the gas. The tattooed woman rubs a hand across her neck underneath her hair, trying to massage away the tension. She groans softly with fatigue.
---“What the fuck did I tell you? Get the fuck off this bus!” I don’t need to change where I’m looking to know that the Phan has noticed the professional.
---“Sir, could you please have a seat.” The driver says, diverting a fragment of her attention to the rear view mirror that lets her see the passengers. The Phan appeals to the driver. “Look, I told this piece of shit not to get on the same bus as I did. Now I’ve gotta teach him a fucking lesson.”
---“Sir, sit down.”
---The Phan does nothing of the sort. “What the fuck did I say, cocksucker?” The Phan has raised his voice and is now garnering the attention of the entire bus.
---The bus pulls up to the next station, despite the fact that it looks empty, and the driver turns on her hazard lights. She lifts her bulk from the beaded seat rest and walks toward the Phan and the professional. “Alright, now what’s going on?”
---The Phan blurts out “I told this piece of shit not to get on the same bus as me and...”
---The driver raises her hand, silencing him. “Sir?” she asks, turning toward the professional. “What’s going on?”
---The professional opens his mouth to speak, but the Phan interrupts. “This motherfucker got on the bus, that’s what’s going on.”
---The driver frowns, realizing she’s not going to get a straight answer while the pair of them are together. She asks the professional to step outside so she can talk in semi-privacy, and he follows her out. The tension level in the bus goes up slightly: a shouting match they can stand, but when their schedules get delayed as a result, it’s a cause for concern.
---The tattooed woman frowns and consults her watch. The Phan has reacquired his seat, and resumes his narrative. I spare a thought of sympathy for his neighbor, and return my attention to the woman. “All I did was ask for a cigarette, and this piece of shit was all over me. Man, you find some real cocksuckers in this town, don’t you?” The neighbor nods absently. The woman turns a page and crosses her legs, exposing her tattoo again. I look for a matching one on her other ankle, but it’s bare.
---“I mean.... God!” The neighbor tries to ignore the Phan, but if the Phan notices, he doesn’t care. “One cigarette! I mean, who can’t spare one cigarette?”
---I spare a glance outside. The driver and the professional seem to be talking rationally, and the driver punctuates her side of the conversation with an occasional gesture westward. The professional eventually concedes, and the driver climbs aboard the bus and presses a button on the fare receptacle. A pass is disgorged, and the driver takes it and hands it to the professional. He says a final comment to the driver, who shrugs, and returns to her seat.
---I look back at the woman, and find her staring in my direction. I surmise that she’d been watching the exchange between the driver and the professional too. Our eyes meet for an instant, but I look away, turning the motion of my head into a full 180° sweep. I’m looking back west, the way we came, and I see another bus, following the same path that this one took. We lurch forward, as the driver removes the emergency brake and applies the gas. I keep looking for a few seconds, until I’m satisfied that the woman has looked away. From the corner of my eye, it looks like she’s reading again. I slip my sunglasses on and return my gaze to the woman, who has indeed resumed her reading.
---“What is his problem?” I hear someone from the back of the bus whisper. A glance back reveals that one of the passengers has asked the other woman from my stop,who’s explaining secondhand.
---“Piece of shit,” the Phan comments, sounding strangely appreciative. The tone almost suggests he’s saying more akin to “Son of a gun.” The bus rolls on for a few more blocks, and I watch the woman turn another page and scratch the small other back. The Phan’s neighbor pulls the cord to request the driver to stop, and gathers his belongings together. The bus stops, and the neighbor strolls toward the exit. “I’ll catch you later!” the Phan promises, prompting the former neighbor to increase his pace infinitesimally.
---The woman rubs her forehead and closes her book. Probably getting a headache from reading in a moving vehicle. She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to control the pain, and then bends over to reach her purse. The motion gives me an excellent view right down her blouse. She fumbles with the purse, trying to replace the paperback. She’s wearing a dark green bra, and has another tattoo on her left breast. It looks like a small butterfly, but she straightens up, holding a small object from her purse, before I can make out any more details. Again, I’m quite impressed.
---“You were there.” I turn forward, toward the source of the comment. The Phan has taken the seat right in front of me. I nod slightly. “You saw how that asshole treated me. ‘I already told you no.’ Fuck.” I grunt in response, trying to imbue the quasi-syllable with just the right amount of mock sympathy and genuine disinterest. I return my attention to the woman, my eyes safely hidden under my shades. She’s pulling her hair back using the scrunchie from her purse. It looks good; gives me a better view of her neck. Her ears have about five earrings each in them, and I wonder how long it takes for her remove them. Or someone else to remove them.
---“Piece of ....” He trails off, almost as if he’s bored with this train of thought. I know I am.
---The bus stops at another shelter, and one of the new passengers takes the seat right in front of the Phan. The Phan sees his opportunity, and launches into are telling of his bold struggle with the professional. “Oh man, listen. I gotta tell you about this.” It sounds like he knows the guy, and for all I know, he does. The new passenger doesn’t show any indication that they’ve had a previous relationship, however. I tune their discussion out, and continue staring at the woman.
---The bus continues for a few more uneventful blocks, and I realize how hungry I am. The Phan pulls the cord, and the bus stops in front of an office building. “Well, I gotta get going. I’ll see you.” No one bids him farewell. He gets off, and the bus lurches forward again. The woman visibly relaxes, all the tension draining from her shoulders. As the doors shut, she mumbles “You’re welcome.” My stop is soon, and I’ll have to leave this attractive woman to the rest of her trip, consigning her to my memory.
---My stomach growls, and I decide to get off a little early. I can stop at a hot dog stand half a block from the bookstore and get a bag of chips to satisfy it. The second I pull the cord, I remember that I don’t have any cash. The bus stops, and I wait for a second to see if anyone else is getting off. If somebody else gets off, I’ll be off the hook and can ride the whole way to the bookstore; otherwise, I’ll have to get off when the driver stops. No one else gets off, so I do. I give a final glance to the woman, who’s got her eyes closed. Oh well.
---The bus drives off. I inhale deeply, taking in the smell of hot dogs. Perhaps not the most appetizing of fragrances, but when you’re hungry you tend to get less picky. I look westward, to the office building where the Phan was dropped off. He’s waiting at a crosswalk, while another bus comes up behind him. The bus stops, and the professional gets out. He hurries away from the bus, obviously trying to avoid the Phan. When he’s about halfway to the office building’s doors, the Phan notices him.
---“HEY!” the Phan yells. The professional doesn’t slow down, and the Phan breaks into a run towards him. “Alright, Motherfucker! That’s it!” The professional heads inside, followed by the Phan. At this distance, it’s impossible to hear anything, but I imagine the Phan’s tirade is continuing inside. A few moments later, the Phan is being escorted from the building rather forcibly by a pair of large security guards.
---“I know where you work, cocksucker! I’ll be back! Asshole! Piece of cocksucking shit!”
---“Excuse me, sir” a voice from behind me says. I turn and see a panhandler. Ragged clothes and shoes, unkempt hair and distinctive odor. “Can you spare some change?”
---I dig into my pocket. One penny. A single cent, change from the ginger ale. God, would it be ruder to say I had nothing, or to give this guy a single penny? I make my decision, and the man responds with “God bless you, sir” and shuffles west.
---I walk the half block to the bookstore, and make a bee line for the counter. Yes, they do have the copy of the book I ordered. I take it from the cashier, deciding I’m going to browse a bit before I purchase it. I look for an open chair in which to read it, and find one near the science fiction section. I begin to read.
---I’m enmeshed in my book and barely realize it when someone sits in a nearby chair. “Some ride, huh?” asks a voice I don’t recognize. The tattooed woman is sitting across from me, a brand new Star Trek book in her hand.
---“Yeah.”