On weekdays other than Wednesday, Amos Rex would stand next to the banner just outside the kite shop and stretch. Once loose, he would jog for one hour before getting ready for work.

On Wednesday, Amos would instead smoke his one weekly cigarette, then walk back upstairs and work on his novel for an hour. Today was Wednesday.

Amos opened his box of Marlboros and pulled out his last cigarette. He made a mental note to buy another box and winced when he remembered the cost.

He stuck the cigarette in between his lips and flicked his Bic lighter to light it. An unexpected gust of wind caused the banner to flap. It stung his face and knocked the cigarette out of his hand, causing it to tumble across the sidewalk.

Amos looked around. The trees were dead still. In the distance a flag on a flagpole hung limply. He bent and peered around the banner, but nobody was there. "Damn," he said.

Amos retrieved his cigarette, wiped it on his shirt then tried to light it again. This time a noticeable wind came up. The wind blew out the flame of his Bic. A blown paper bag struck him in the face and dislodged the cigarette again.

Amos looked around. Again there was not a single sign of wind anywhere. "Double damn," he said and bent to pick up the cigarette.

The cigarette firmly between his lips, Amos glanced left and right looking for signs of wind. Dead still.

A voice spoke into his right ear. It was a soft but firm voice that could have been that of a man or a woman. The voice said, "You must be stupid."

Amos spun in place but was alone on the sidewalk. He shrugged and said, "I must be losing it."

He cupped his hands around the Bic to protect it from expected wind. He flicked on a flame and heard the rumble of thunder. He looked up and was surprised to see an anvil shaped thunderhead. Lightening danced from it. A howling wind buffeted him.

Amos rotated so the wind was behind him and saw he was no longer in the city. He now stood on a gravel road that extended straight as far as he could see. On either side of the road were vast fields of dry wheat.

"If I'm going to die here," Amos said. "I'll go out smoking." He lit his cigarette, but the cigarette burst into flames as if soaked in gasoline. He spit it out and slapped his face to keep the flames away.

The cigarette landed in the wheat. With an explosive force that made him stumble backward, the wheat caught on fire. Ahead of him a tornado formed, dead square in the road and moved toward him. He turned to run but found a second tornado the other direction also moving toward him.

Amos looked left and right but the wheat fields on both sides of him were on fire.

Amos hesitated, unsure what to do. Something flapped against his face and caused him to blink. Just like that he was back on the sidewalk next to the kite store's banner, a cigarette clutched between his lips.

Amos pulled the cigarette from his mouth and looked at it. "Damn," he said. He crumpled the cigarette and tossed it into the gutter.

"I wonder what this means," he said to himself. "Should I jog now or go back upstairs and write. I don't need to smoke to write I guess, but when I don't smoke I run."

The voice spoke again, and said, "You are stupid aren't you."

"That doesn't help."

"Write," said the voice.

"Okay." Amos felt the Bic lighter still clutched in his hand. He looked around and spotted a garbage can twenty or so feet away. With a perfect three-point toss, he discarded the now-useless lighter.

"Damn," Amos said. Then he trotted back up stairs to work on his novel.