I found her somewhere in the depths of San Bernardino. She caught the corner of my eye. With a look like that she quickly became the focus. What struck me as odd aside from the obvious, were these neon green rolling papers she slings out. Naturally, I thought she was getting ready to inhale the devil’s grass. That was until I seen her crouch down to pick up three smashed cigarette butts from the front of the liquor store where I was picking up my daily amenities.

She tore out what little tobacco was left in those lipstick stained butts, stuffed them into her papers and rolled ’em up. It was gross, unsanitary, yet resourceful and mildly romantic.

I asked how she was doing. “I’m smoking butts, how the fuck you think I’m doing?” I apologized. “Sorry, I asked too early. I’ll ask again after the first drag” She broke character and smiled a very short smile.

Being the gentleman I am, I lit her makeshift cancer stick with Irma, my lucky torch.

“What’s your name? I’m Dave” I say reaching out my claw. Staying in character she smiles a wide smile “Fuck off”

She walks off into the setting sun like a fading sunburned polaroid. The biggest kick I get is only knowing her as Fuck Off.