The average body mass for an adult male dusky leaf-monkey is around 8.30
kilograms, and for the female it is around 6.5 kilograms. The dusky leaf-monkey
lives in the countries of Burma, Malaysia and Thailand. They prefers to
live in closed primary forests, but are also found in old-growth secondary
forests, plantation forests, and urban forests. They spend most of their
time in the upper canopy levels of the forest, where they consume leaves,
although they will also consume fruit and flowers. Social play in the
dusky leaf-monkey includes wrestling, sham-biting, jumping on or over,
chasing, fleeing, and tail pulling.
A Cruel Trick
There was some kid sitting on a park bench, flicking a
lighter on and off. It was a Bic lighter he could've bought at any grocery
store or gas station in America for ninety nine cents, but he didn't
have ninety nine cents, and he wasn't old enough for them to sell him
one, anyways. He held the flame a little longer every time he lit it,
until he started pushing past the thirty seconds they tell you it's
safe to have one of those cheap jobs ignited. If it exploded in his
hands, a lawyer would have a hard time sueing Bic, but that kid could
afford neither a lawyer or the pocket change for a pay phone call to
The park bench he sat on was right in
front of the stairs down to a subway. Somebody asked him for a light
again. He was amazed at how many people smoked out here. He wondered
if that was what it was like to be old: to light a cigarette after walking
out of a subway, where you can't smoke. And he wondered about the people
he lit cigarettes for. Were they all failures, because they couldn't
light theirs themselves? He would have to find out for himself one day.
But those were golden dreams, for some
infinite paradise he'd whittle out of the untold wealth of years he
still had. All he had to do to get there was wait for the right guy
to ask him for a light. He'd heard stories like that. The people who
light the cigarettes, they succeed best in life. Just like people with
good smiles succeed best in life, or women with good breasts. Women
with good breasts, big smiles and cigarette lighters, now, there were
forces of nature. With that in mind, he began to believe in love at
He lit another few cigarettes, smiling
profusely and even thanking this one asshole who didn't even thank him
back. And the kid shouldn't have thanked him in the first place, what
kind of spine did that show? He'd have to be an individual. Maybe that
was why that one guy didn't say anything back. He was just a kid with
a cigarette lighter, but he had to own himself, assert himself, say:
"I would like to light your cigarette, sir." Christ, no, that would
be pitiful. What was he thinking?
How about: "Need a light?" That would
be perfect. A friendly suggestion. That way, the other guy wouldn't
get the idea that he was a stiff, or desperate. It was perfect. He wasn't
desperate, he wouldn't beg. That was out of the question for him, begging.
Weeping Jesus, what kind of an image was that? "Please, God, let me
light your cigarette!"
What scared him was that he could see
himself doing that, begging on bent knees, given what he hoped to gain
from it. But he was scared to think of what he'd lose from it.
He got off his seat and walked down to
the public bathrooms inside the subway station. He took a paper towel
and cleaned off his teeth in the mirror. He didn't need a subway token
When he got to the top of the stairs,
he saw there was a guy in a suit sitting on his park bench, reading
one of those free newspapers that are never there. He must've seen the
kid looking at him from behind his newspaper, or maybe the kid was just
staring too loudly, because he put it down and said, "Can I help you?"
The kid didn't know what to say. "Oh,
no, sorry." He sat next to the guy, not knowing what else to do. He'd
been sitting there before, he'd just gotten up to clean his teeth off.
He started flicking his lighter on and off again, warming his hands
The other guy noticed and said, "Hey,
how old are you?"
The kid told him.
"I was that age, you know what I did?"
"No." The kid waited a beat too long
and added, "What?"
"I used to light shit on fire. You ever
do any of that?"
"No, I just light people's cigarettes."
He looked at them walking out of the subway station. "When they get
off the trains."
"Valuable public service," the other
guy said, and started reading his paper again.
The kid looked at him, sitting on the
bench with his free newspaper and suit. It looked nice. He didn't know
if it was a nice suit, if the seams were in the right place to count
it as nice, but it looked that way. Maybe this was the guy whose cigarette
he'd been waiting to light all this time.
He sat up a bit straighter, then slouched.
What was the right way to sit, when gently suggesting yourself for,
what, the throne? The business? The empire? To be his son? Who knew,
maybe that would be the best damned cigarette that guy ever smoked.
The world was full of miracles. Was he supposed to slouch, or not? Would
he miss a miracle or two if his back wasn't straight?
He decided to slouch a little bit, and
say: "Need a light?"
The guy looked down from his paper another
time. "Yeah. Tell you what, will you trade me a cigarette for that lighter?"
The kid wasn't sure what to say, so he
said, "Sure." He gave away his lighter and got a cigarette with a half
inch of mustard-colored filter on one end. You smoked out of there.
"Thanks, kid," the guy said, pocketing
the lighter. "You know, if you put out a hat, you could probably make
some money doing that." A taxi pulled up on the street next to the station.
He got up, waved at the driver, got in and left.
The kid got off the park bench and looked
at the cigarette, then smelled it, then tried breathing through it.
It didn't taste like anything, but the air was a little less cold. He
wondered what he'd do the next day, maybe try to trade it for another
lighter, or maybe he'd find one in the open again.