Do You Need A Light?

I sat on the bench and fumbled with my purse. Lipstick covered in tobacco, half-chewed pieces of gum. Yuck. I searched until I found it — as I brought the cigarette to my lips, I saw him.
“Do you need a light?” I sure do.
I held the smoke between my teeth and moved in closer to him.
“You know, where I’m from, accepting means you agree to have dinner with me, yes?” God yes.
Then came the banter.
Then came the drinks.
Then came the clothes on the floor.
We parted our legs but before we parted our ways, I wore his shirt on the balcony and smoked.
I finished the last of the wine, called for my skirt and pulled my panties up my thighs — when it finally hit me: this motherfucker never bought me dinner.

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