Last Cigarette

The driver’s mind cried illiterations that fueled the keyboard he typed away furiously on in the front seat.
“Where to now Mrs. kinsing?”
“If it’s ok with you we’ll sit here for a minute i need to type a report , do you mind if i smoke?”
“No i think i’ll have one too, Mrs.Kinsing.” he replied as his brain thought of yesterday’s militant nonsmoker still smoldering at the gravel pit outside town.”she should have picked the devil she knew.”
“Sorry did you say something?”
“No i was just writing outloud.”
“You are a writer? I could tell straight away you were an intellectual, a man of consequence. You know william faulkner wrote his first novel while neglecting his job as postmaster.”
“Funny you should mention that, my great grandfather was a share cropper for the Faulkners.”
“Did he write?”
“No. but he would tell the most wonderful stories, it’s like i was a character in em, but i guess had he been able to neglect his job for years he could have been a writer,and had he been able to read”

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