Now you see it, now you don't

Pick-up 52

So there I am, half cut and three-quarters stoned, standing on the corner near my house at about midnight on Sunday night. As we're standing there at the lights, waiting for a taxi, three likely lads, late teens/early 20s, come strolling across the road. I'm smoking, like I do after a couple of beers and a bottle of red. One of them stops and says "Hey mate, can I pinch a smoke?". "Sure mate" I say, and offer him one. "Thanks" and a wave. Like you do.

They're about 30 yards down the road when this young fellow comes running back, and somewhat sheepishly asks "Sorry mate, have you got a light?". "Yeah, but only these matches" I say, reaching into my pocket and handing over a new deck of redheads. "Thanks" he says, and goes to open the matchbox. All 47 matches fall out, all over the footpath. "Sorry mate, sorry" he says, and bends down, slowly picking up match after match after match, and putting them back into the box. It runs through my mate's and my minds to possibly help the guy. We looked at each other, at this young bloke bobbing around on the footpath chasing the rest of the fallen matches, and back at each other. Smile. Shrug. And go back to watching this poor cunt picking up all the matches, one by one.

Finally he gets the last one, lights his fag and scurries off after his mates. "I was in half a mind to help the poor bloke," my mate says. "Me too," I say, "but it was all too surreal".