Cigarette Stories #1

The Man on the street, for a moment calm, composed, passing as a gentleman. Then he walks and wankered he becomes, my perspective shifts as is seemingly his own, forever shifting left to right as if it were straight ahead. The only lights that looked down upon that man were reflections in my eyes, reflections from the hot tip of my cigarette burning in the cold. The amber dark of the city concealed his state. The Chameleon’s silhouette frustrated my eyes that pride themselves on perception; if only it wasn’t just his perception that changed. Not just his stance but his standing. A chance to enter the towers he so drunkenly stumbles past. In a cartoon he’d be mistakenly singing a tune, but in Manchester, he’s written down, shown to be dancing a different one with every step. 

*It only takes a passing sight to be seen, a couple minutes smoke has given me all the content I need. These are my ‘Cigarette Stories’.