a simple progression

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.