The Walk

“I’m cold.”

“Here, take my sweater.”

“What sweater?”

“This one I’m handing you.”

“I didn’t realize you had a sweater with you.”

“How could I give you a sweater I didn’t have?”

“It’s just … Never mind. Thank you. This is quite soft you know.”

“Yes, Woolly there is one of my favourites. Are you warmer?”

“A bit. Though the breeze is so crisp it cuts right through the knit.”

“Well, I’m quite warm so take my jacket too.”

“What jacket?”

“What do you mean, what jacket? This bloody jacket.”

“Where did you get that?!”

“Jesus, didn’t we just have this conversation? What’s the matter with you?”

“With me? Since leaving the restaurant we’ve walked four blocks. You had a tiny purse—and that stupid flowery hat—but that’s it. You sure as hell didn’t have a jacket. Or a sweater!”

“Oh, you’re a cheap drunk. Will you take the jacket or not?”

“Fine, I’ll take it ’cause it’s colder than a witch’s tit out here. Thank you.”

“Good. Now can we just enjoy the rest of the walk?”

“I guess. Ah, damn, and now it’s raining.”

“Here, take my umbrella.”


© Aliya Smyth 2015


If you would like to re-publish this story, please contact me.