Today at the bus stop a woman asked me for a cigarette.
She was carrying two handfuls of bags, her hair was mussed and matted with rain, and she had perhaps six teeth in her mouth. She had crossed the road from under the protective cover of the doctor building across the street. Her jacket was weighted down with water, so I imagined it had not been her first crossing.
She stood too close and spoke directly to my nose, speaking with the distinct nasal sounds of someone with a disability, yelling to make sure I would hear her: CAN I HAVE A CIGARETTE PLEASE?
She nodded - OK, still shouting - and walked to the bench and plopped down, where she began to wail and cry and scream at the empty street.
I turned my iPod up - it was, after all, Britney Spears - so that I didn't have to hear her anymore.
Some days, I'm saying something; some days, I'm just saying...