text: The cold, black-throated wind cuts through the warm air. It whistles past my headphones as I walk quickly on the sidewalk. They're silent, but I keep them on. I look busy this way. "....bve light?" I pause for a second, unsure if I heard a voice. The cars blow past me and splash water on my pants. Great. I keep walking. "Hey!" I stop and turn around while removing my headphones. The cool wind reminds my ears that the snow is not far behind us. "Do you have a light?" There is a woman hiding behind the plastic panes of the bus shelter. Under the weak street lights, I can barely make out her face. She's dressed for the weather, rubber boots and overcoat. She's holding a cigarette in her left hand. A car wooshes past us and turns the corner. In its headlights I get a glimpse of her. Her hair is messy, a bunch of old graying straw. She's been crying. Do I have a light? Of course I have one. It's in my pocket, blinging around in a glass box meant to hide the smell of weed and ashes. The box doesn't really work. I think I'm just getting used to the odour of damp dirt and dusty drawers. But the lighter is mine, and I like it. It isn't special in any way. In this wind, it wouldn't hold a flame. I know because I tried it a few minutes ago, before giving up. "So?" I have a light, I tell her. I take the box out, take the lighter out. Take a step forward. Hand it with a straight arm. If she's looking to rob me, I need to look confident. Her hand shakily rises and grabs the lighter. Her fingers brush mine gently. They are dead cold. She's been there a while. She struggles to light her flame, but eventually succeeds. She brings the flickering lighter to her face. Her eyes are red and puffy. Her cheek has a large purple spot. It's still tender. The light flashes off as she rips it away. The only light in the bus shelter is a floating ember five feet above the ground. The ember shakes. I ask her if she's okay, if she needs help. "No." I can tell she's lying. She starts turning around, the steps forward, into the light of the street lamps. She looks at me, then at the street. There's red mixed with the yellow of her hair, behind her head. Her eyes go back to me. "Are you okay? You don't look too good." I tell her I'm fine, just enjoying the night. She can tell I'm lying. Our moment of silence is interrupted by a gigantic mastodon in the street. Garish, brutal light and the stink of diesel. Her bus is here. She quickly walks up to the door and puts a shaky foot in. She turns around and hands me the lighter. I step back. You keep it, I say. Give it back to me when we meet again. She shrugs, flashes her card to the driver and gets in. The bus roars on into the dark street. I take a step in the bus shelter and look around. I wonder if she'll be okay. I wonder if I'll get my lighter back. I liked that lighter. A few drops of water fall on my glasses. Of course, first I lose my lighter, then it starts to rain. I straighten myself and keep walking on the sidewalk. Not sure where it ends. I think I'll try to find out. The weather's not too bad tonight.