Across

Everytime I go out on the fire escape to have a smoke, I see this person sitting on their balcony across the street having one too. It's too far to tell if they're male or female, but it's nevertheless a blob of lazy with frizzy hair. Same oversized shirt. Same chair. Same position. Everytime I go outside. I have an inkling my occasional appearance is a highlight of the day.

I've grown to depend on this tub figure for validation of my gross habit. A few smokes are not as bad as the need to chain all day. Also, I may feel fat, but I'm definitely not as fat as a person who can barely squeeze into a plastic chair. I have good knees. My socks fit around my ankles. My hair, though dry, isn't a basket of frizz. I may feel like I have nothing to wear, but I have more than one T-shirt.

So I sit, swinging my legs, knowing that I'm being judged as well. They're probably really glad they don't have my dark roots.