THE MAN IN BLACK

Not everything is what it seems to be...

It was like this.

Jennifer was waiting in the bus stop, early for her bus but didn't feel like filling in the time walking to the next bus stop quarter of a mile away because a) it was raining and b) it was cold, when she was joined by the man in black.

"Have you got a light, miss?" he asked, flicking an unlit cigarette between two fingers.

Jennifer didn't like cigarettes being smoked anywhere near her. She didn't like the smell of them and the way the least smudge of their smoke clung to anything fabric that it touched; she didn't like the way people who smoked reeked like old ashtrays and then sat next to her on the bus, and she most certainly didn't like the mess the smokers made, flicking repulsive ash every which way until it went in her hair, up her nose and into her clothes.

So: "Yes, I've got a light, but you can't have it," she replied, honestly.

The man in black took one step back, obviously nonplussed by her response. Then he took two steps forwards until his nose was against her forehead, cold and wet and just that little bit snotty, and snarled, "I need a light 'cause I need to light this f*g, and I'll thank you for giving me one."

Jennifer hadn't expected so savage a response and, for fear of damage to her delicate person, reluctantly took a box of matches from her handbag and handed it to the man in black.

“You light your foul cancer-stick," she said, very coldly for one as sweet as she, "but stand well clear of me while you're smoking and make quite sure you sit nowhere near me on the bus."

"Ta, Miss," he grunted, and removed one match from the box and handed it back to her. Then he struck the one match quite firmly on the sole of his left boot and held the flame against the white papery tube that was, by then, being held firmly between his lips.

The cigarette glowed for a moment. Then it flared like a wild thing and a column of sparks and flame shot from the man in black's mouth.

"About time too!" he grunted, and rose into the air as if being carried by the force of a rocket.

"This is quicker than buses," she heard him call, and then he was gone.

Jennifer stood at the bus stop and wished she'd walked to the next stop.