‘Got a lighter mate?’
the clipper stuffed deep in my pocket presses against my thigh.
His cooling, blue eyes peek behind strands of jet-black hair,
meeting my own drowsy lids with a slight look of concern.
As I reach over with a wink of appreciation,
my social anxiety and fear of strangers;
blown away by gusts of wind illuminating my merry spirit.
I inhale before a casual
‘Where abouts you from?’
‘Surrey lad and u?’
‘ohh yeah I know a girl from Surrey…err..Gracie?’
A nonchalant shake of his head is followed by his held out palm,
as I reluctantly slap the lighter back in his hand.
The back of his head tells me farewell when he stumbles to hot friends calling his name.
Against the low hums of bass i can make out;
‘who’s that’
Judgemental glances shoot toward me, flushing my cheeks warm against the cool air.
‘fuck knows he’s pissed’
did he not find me attractive ? was I too desperate?
another swig and a frustrated exhale before a new, playful smile and a set of beady eyes falls on the bench ahead…
stubbing out my cigarette,
pushing the clipper further down my pocket-
‘sorry man- you got a lighter on you?’