But I Can’t Blow Smoke-rings (A story)

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Sometimes I sit on my bed and smoke, and think about the things I’ve seen and heard; think about life, basically.

A man once told me that I’m an idiot for not using my God-given power. I’d asked him for a smoke in a club and he looked me up and down while opening his cigarette case. Oh yes. An ornate thing, red and gold, with white cigarettes neatly side by side on red velvet(een) inside. He picked one up and I checked out his hands. Nope. Not my type. He handed it to me.
“You’re a typical woman. Not smart.”
I took the cigarette, intrigued.
“Oh?”
“You’re a beautiful woman, you could get any man in here to give you anything you want, but you’re asking for a cigarette.”
I smiled at him, because he clearly thought he was telling me something I didn’t know. 
And then I answered, after taking a sip of my drink, and placing the short glass back on the bar. Yes, the drink magically appears. Deal. I told him,
“What I want from a man, sex can’t buy, because what I’m offering isn’t something money can purchase.  So, technically and potentially I could get any man to give me anything money can buy based on the monetary value we both place on my physical assets, except that’s not what I’m selling. What is the cost of a cigarette? A conversation in a bar. What do you get? To talk to a beautiful woman. A fair exchange.” I shrugged. He opened his mouth to speak but I’m yet to meet the man who can stop me in full flow.
“But getting to know me, really know me, and being known by me, spending time in my company and being loved by me? Money can’t buy that. And that’s what I’m looking for: the man who’ll take my loving in exchange for giving me his, another fair exchange.”
He’d been sipping his own drink as I spoke, and now he put it down next to mine, and held out a lighter. I cupped my hand around his and with the other put the cigarette to my lips and lit it. Then the conversation continued. He spoke first. 
“You talk a lot. That’s why you’re single.”

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