Chilly night of the November second,
driving back from my Kyudo practice,
the preliminary results of 2010 midterm elections,
and I turn off the radio.
Though a bit tired,
I change my way
to buy cigarettes
from a small package store.
The Indian owner,
wearing a big smile,
greets me from a corner.
His Latino assistant--
never asked him where he is from--
gives me a pack,
``There is a nice wine tasting,
you should take your wife there."
It is this Thursday night, in downtown Decatur.
``How is the business?"
I ask the owner;
he knows I am Iranian.
``Slow on Tuesdays and Wednesdays,
picks up for the weekends,''
he replies, smiling,
you are my only customer
who buys the `Red American Spirit'.''
From the paper rack outside the store,
I take an old `Creative Loafing,'
Sima is waiting at home,
and I have not smoked for a couple of days.