The slippery lady in the black hoodie slinks down the front steps
and bums a cigarette off me
because she’s sad
because her husband died
last Thanksgiving
from lung cancer.
She lives alone on the 3rd floor
with too much closet space
and stacks of moldy gun magazines.
We stand and smoke against the wall
where a sign says,
“No Smoking Within 15 Feet”
and talk about the horrible weather
and worse news
we’ve been getting lately.