A stranger

With a bit of an inward sigh, smoke trickled and then tumbled out of his nostrils. His elbows on his thighs and the seat of his pants on the only seat in the dry bus stop. I with my bags, likewise, tumbled into the bus stop. There was a imperceptible line of dryness form the rain where I could only stand twelve inches away from the smoker. My knees matched his and but my hands were on my belongings in a vain attempt to keep my library books dry. Though my hair was plastered to my face and my faux leather jacket was dribbling rain all the way to my heels, this stranger was as dry as his damned cigarette. I scowled down at him. He only slightly raised a brow and drug once again on his wrapped poison. I racked him appearance for another way to judge him, when he slid over and offered me a small amount of the steel seat. I relented with an arch of my own eyebrow. He leaned even farther down and offered up his temples to his hands. The embers began to burn near his hair. In a moment of community I raised my hand and removed the offending hairs, blackened by earlier rain, but otherwise lightly browned. The lightness of his skin made the hair seem even darker. I realized what I had reached earlier. This boy had no piercings or tattoos to be seen. What was he doing Here? And why had we both frozen as I saved his hairs from a sure, pungent death? The stream of smoke steadily left his mouth as if he was not exhaling, but merely opened. The bus scattered water on us as I paused in it's daily ramblings. "Goodbye stranger," he said. I was the stranger.