I stood outside the shop thinking.
In my mind I pictured a simple progression: a smoldering cigarette catches the floor on fire, the fire spreads through the house, eventually reaching him, who would be too drunk to notice.
“Hey bitch, what are you waiting for?”
I looked up, but he was already walking away.
I hate his smug walk. I hate how he took up too much of the sidewalk. How his hands were always fists.I stubbed out my cigarette and followed, wondering if tonight was the night.