“Yeah,” I said quietly, reaching into my clutch and pulling out the slim silver lighter I’d just bought on in the store . I handed it to him without looking directly at his face, my fingers brushing his rough, calloused ones for the briefest second.“Thanks,” he muttered, taking it with a slight nod. He flicked the lighter once, twice, until a small flame appeared. The tip of his cigarette glowed orange as he inhaled deeply, the smoke curling up into the misty night air. Up close, his breath hit me like a wave , sour, heavy, the stench of years of cheap alcohol and neglected teeth. It was the kind of smell that clung to a person, the kind that told stories of long nights and even longer regrets. “…You look too good to be out here,” he said after a moment, his voice raspy and low, like gravel under tires. He eyed me up and down, not in a leering way, but with a kind of weary observation, like he was surprised to see someone dressed like me standing in front of this rundown mini-mart
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