So I buy a pack, and I buy a lighter, and I keep them with me at all times.
I stand outside and wait.
Sometimes, I keep the cigarettes sitting beside me on the ledge that surrounds the entrance to my building.
I think it looks more authentic that way.
A homeless guy even asked me to have one today! I told him the pack wasn’t open, and he spit on my house shoes.
Obviously, I’m not going to talk to her the first time she notices me. I’m just establishing my smoker status, right now.
She’ll see me outside, we’ll exchange the, “Oh, you’re a smoker, too” look, and then I’ll stab one of my pre-made cigarette butts into the brick wall. How convenient. Time to go.
Then, the next time she sees me, she’ll remember me: “Oh, that smoker from across the street.” I’ll put out my pre-made butt (I wonder if there’s a market for these… probably not until I change the name.), and then I will saunter inside.
Unable to leave work, because her boss is, of course, a self-serving prick, she will come outside, looking for her trusted, ever-faithful, across the street, smoking buddy (that’s me).
She will shout across the street, “Excuse me!”
I’ll pretend not to hear.
“Excuse me!” she will shout again, with urgency, but so much poise.
I’ll look up and say, “Oh, it’s you. We are acquainted, and I consider you a friend,” with my face.
She will shout, “Do you mind if I bum a cigarette from you?”
“Not at all,” I’ll say, casually walking toward the street, looking both ways, crossing quickly, yet still somehow casually.
I’ll hand her the pack and say, “You can keep them. I bought the pack on the way home. I can get more.