Smooth as Double Gravy

‘I like beef turkey’ said the legless man. ‘Don’t you mean jerky?’ said the alms man. ‘That too’. ‘You want a smoke?’ asked the alms man, cigarette pouch at the ready. ‘Don’t mind if I do’. ‘You like those ones?’ said the legless man sniffling. ‘Smooth as gravy’ said the alms man, his cigarette pouch half-open. ‘You ever smoke those flimsy wee ones?’ asked the legless man. ‘Can’t say as I have’. ‘Smooth as double-gravy’ said the legless, tongue calving. A yellow sun pecked at the top of the legless man’s head like a half-starved gull, his brow tightening under the brim of his cap. ‘Had about enough of this damn sun’ said the alms man. ‘And I too’ said the legless man. The alms man struck a match against his trouser-fly, a quarrel of sparks flitting about like crazed fireflies, and lit the end of the legless man’s cigarette. ‘…damn hot scorcher of a day’ said the alms man, his cigarette smoldering. ‘Is that’ said the legless man. ‘Is that’.