Smoke

He was drunk as a skunk but still managed to light his cigarrete in the stove fire. He leaned in the open fridge, thinking how proper it was to use the stove to light it and a fridge to ease the heat. There he heard Jennifer’s voice in his mind, mad at him and complaining about smoking inside, “This would be the least of your complains, Jenny my love.” he said to himself, as he started to sweat.

She was working at the club by this time as he thought and coughed because of the smoke. Her house was small in a quiet part of town and she fought bravely to pay the rent, maintaing the place, and, weeks prior, to see John gone. She knew somehow he was by no means the right guy.

“I will show you how ‘right of a guy’ I am, Jenny my love.” now he couldn’t ignore the heat nor cough. He could only think of how pretty and neat her house was before, how he wished he was not laying alone in the floor, and how stupid he was for spilling gasoline so near the damn door.