Here, Hold This

I was out tonight, wandering around town, and I started talking to this homeless guy named Rodney. He was really friendly and kind of drunk. He kept talking about how God wasn't going to pay rent, how you had to earn it. He talked about how you have to love yourself. He talked about how he loved everyone, no matter what color they were. He went on and on about what he'd learned and what was really important in life, but that's not the point of the story.

The point is, he asked me to hold his cigarette while he got something out of his coat, and I didn't smoke any of it. It was right there in my hand, already lit, so familiar. Who knows, if it hadn't had homeless guy spit on it, what I might have done. Less than a week now before I can start again. I wonder if I will. It was so hard to get this far. What was the point of it if I just start again?