The Intersection: A Loaded Question

Excuse me, but do I have a spare cigarette? No, I don't. Well then, do I have a match so she can light the cigarette she already has in her mouth?

No, I don't have that, either.

She walks down the stairs anyway, a little uneasily, and strolls along beside me. Do I want some company then?

What kind of company does she mean?

The friendly kind, she says, and I feel her hand touch my wrist.

The question and the answer float through my head. Doesn't everyone want company? I think to myself, especially the friendly kind? But I don't think that's what she wants to hear. I'm not a wise guy, and I don't want to be rude. Instead, I smile dumbly.

Finally, she explains her interests more clearly. I'm thinking of a photograph by Brassai, and Parisian women with thick calves who stood under lamplights smoking cigarettes in the 1930s, when she asks me if I want to have sex. And I don't know how to answer. It's really a very loaded question.