We shared a cigarette one evening. He was lighting his and offered one to me. I settled for a few puffs from his. We got talking. The words came out with greater ease once we got past the perfunctory. First names, check; did we like the lives that we had picked for ourselves, check; any regrets, check. The acridity of the smoke had somehow set the tongues loose. I declared how much I hated my job at that moment. He confessed that he was having second thoughts about the girl he thought had wanted to marry.
We were almost down to the stub. He offered to light another. I decided to walk home instead.
We shared more than a cigarette that evening.