“I swear I’m gonna use this on you. I’m not afraid.”

“Alright, alright, sweetheart. You go ahead, then.”

“I think I will.”

“Hey, wait. First, is it alright if I just…you know, have a smoke? Swear I’m not stalling or anything…”

“Oh, yeah. Sure! Go right ahead. How rude of me.”

“Yeah. It’s ok. I mean. It is your first time and all.”

He takes out a lighter. Flicks it on. Lights up the hollows, the sharp edges of a stubbly face.

“I just kind of wanted my death to be…more like the movies. The bad guys always have a smoke before…you know.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Perfectly understandable.”

She leans against the brick. Takes out a small flask, tilts neck back. The gun is lowered at her side.

He takes a long drag. His eyes are amber.

It is silent for a moment.

“You have nice eyes, you know. Like a shot of whisky.”

She blurts it out. He is quiet. She settles against the brick. Takes another pull on her flask.

“Well,” he speaks suddenly and she jumps slightly, “I do imagine you’d burn going down.”

He smirks. She sees this from the corner of her eye, blushes, glad for the dark.

“But not like whisky…” he inhales the smoke, “more like gasoline or petroleum. Like whatever aftertaste those people at the circus have in their mouth after swallowing fire or a sword.”

Another pause.

“Want a drink?”

“Sure. Sure! You wanna smoke?”

“Yeah! I mean…that would be nice.”

They swap. He shakes the flask.

“Mind if I…”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Finish it off.”

She slips the cigarette between teeth. Inhales long, deep. Peers at his Adam’s apple as it moves up, down that long neck. He swallows the contents of the flask in one gulp.

“You trying to poison me or something?”

He examines the flask. Wipes lips off on the back of his hand. She is laughing, smoke puffing from her nose and lips. A dragon after all.

“I guess it’s a sort of poison, you could say.”

“Oh, good. If it’s only sort of poison that should lengthen my lifespan by…”

He tucks the flask under his arm, counts on fingers,

“… according to my calculations, that’s about five minutes more. Whew! Practically a lifetime!”

“Suppose it is.”

She smiles, shows her chipped front tooth.

“But, really, it’s a little something my friend mixes up from time to time. Makes it himself and all.”

She gives him the cigarette.

“Thanks.”

He pushes the flask into her pocket. Takes an extra-long drag. Taps out the embers, holding what’s left of it between fingertips.

“Hey. I think it’s…”

“About time?”

He nods. Drops the cigarette to the pavement.

“Yeah. Mind if I…?”

“Oh no. Not at all, honey! You go right ahead. Gave me my smoke and all. A dying man’s wish granted.”

She moves away from the wall. Stands. Stiffens her back as she lifts the gun again, slipping the catch off. Hand shakes. He stands there, grin on his face. She lowers the gun.

“Hey, now. What’re you waiting on, babe? Huh? Fire awa-”

Shot rings out. Bounces long off the apartment building walls.

“Oh… that hurts!”

He cringes, sinks to the ground. Hand to cover the crimson.

“I didn’t think it was gonna bleed that much. I mean, look at that.”

He presses his other hand to the dark fluid.

“Like a dam broke or something.”

“Well, I am wearing a white tee-shirt…Guess it makes it more…visible.”

“Suppose so… So you gonna cry? Curse me or something?”

“Nah.” A sharp breath. “I’d prefer to die quietly.”

“Gotcha…so, what’s it like?”

“Well…dying’s kind of like they took all the…bad parts of life, shoved it into…one big fat Molotov cocktail, jammed it down…your throat, threw a lit match down after it and…blew the whole thing up… Now can I die in peace?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

There is silence and she toys about with the gun. Flicks the catch on and off.

“Hey, you dead yet?”

No answer.

“Oh… Ok…. Ok...” She puts the gun away, starts to leave. Stops. Turns back again. Walks quickly over to the wall. Stomps hard on the still-flickering ashes of a dead man’s cigarette.