Why I Now Buy Cigarettes

When I saw Warren and a second, unidentified man talking to each other half a block ahead of me, I knew that within 30 seconds he would either be asking me for change or a cigarette.

(And by he, I mean Warren, not Unidentified Man who is referred to as “unidentified man” because he’s so insignificant to this little story that the only reason he can even be considered a tertiary character is that there are only 3 characters total.)

Here’s how I knew Warren would soon be begging from me (It’s not entirely Holmesian.):

He had clearly crossed the street to speak to UM. And UM clearly either didn’t know him or didn’t like him, (Actually, come to think of it, probably both.) as evidenced by his unwillingness to stop when Warren unctuously tried to engage in conversation.

(I was half a block away, yes, which is hardly within proper range to gauge unctuousness, but I feel justified in such a description because, one, he would soon be unctuous to me, which I know now from my narrative perspective here in the future, and, two, grifter-beggars are always unctuous.)

UM and Warren’s discussion was brief, since UM was deliberately moving forward, while Warren, though eager to scam UM, was more eager, apparently, to keep going his own way, which was the opposite of UM’s, toward me.

Given the scene that just played out before me, it was only reasonable to assume that I was about to be a main character in Warren’s grand Act II. I hunched into my scarf and counted down. 3, 2, 1,

Warren: Hey.

Me: Hey.

Warren, unctuously, as predicted: Hey, hey, hey. How ya doin’?

Me, gruffly: What’s up? (As in “Tell me what you want right now and let’s get this over with.”)

Warren: How you doin’?

Me: Good. (Not warm “Good,” terse “Good.”)

Warren: You don’t remember me?

Me: Nope. (Not, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I do…Remind me of your name?”)

Warren: You don’t remember me knocking?

Me: Nope.

Warren: What’s your name?

Me: Abraham

Warren: Abraham, you smoke, don’t you? (Read those last two words with a descending tone, to get at the confidence he was pretending to have.)

Me: No

Warren: You smoke.

Me: I don’t.

Warren: You used to. I remember.

Me: A lot of people used to smoke.

[I begin walking away.]

Warren: Hey. What you up to?

Me: Walking.

Warren: Gimme a cigarette.

Me, louder because I’m a few yards away by now and because I’m a bit inconsiderate, I don’t mind saying: I don’t smoke.

And that was that: Our conversation, word for word. If I’d made any of it up or embellished it a bit, I would’ve probably tried rhetoric and adverbs and stuff like that.

From now on I’m going to carry a pack of cigarettes, I think. Not because I appreciated Warren or his attempts to ingratiate himself into my memory, where he indeed does not exist, but because, I could’ve said, “Sure, you can have a cigarette if I can take your picture.”

That way this essay would’ve been more interesting visually. I’m always thinking, see?

I’m gonna buy Winstons. Those edge out Marlboro Reds for most manly, I’d say. Actually, manliest might be Lucky Strikes, but even people desperate for a smoke still want a filter most the time. And, no, there is no Lucky Strike filtered cigarette; those were discontinued in 2006.

This is good. I don’t support the grasping covetousness that would lead Brown & Williamson, the former owners of Lucky Strike who introduced filtered styles in the ‘60s, to meddle with and adulterate such a classic American brand.

Finally, I should note, I feel bad calling UM “tertiary,” since I mentioned him more than I expected to. Though, in a literal sense, he was tertiary. Nonetheless, I feel bad calling him that, considering the pejorative connotations tertiariness may carry for some.

Also I feel bad calling him UM. That’s not much of a name. I mean, I even gave Warren a better name than UM. I didn’t ask Warren what his name was. I find it highly doubtful that it’s actually Warren.