I'm not good with people. I never have been. When I meet someone new, I'm always struggling to find the right thing to say. When I want to meet someone new, it's even worse. Especially when that someone is a lady.

I had tried everything. I would ask her sign, only to find out that I didn't know what mine was. Pisces, I later found out. A friend suggested that I complement physical features, but that ended in disaster. "Are they real?" apparently is offensive. Another friend said that I should just talk about what I know, but that only confirmed that ladies do not like it when you ask if they are real.

So, I took up smoking, and everything became easier. Now, instead of asking if they are real, I have, "Do you have a light?" That worked really well until one lady did not, and we both felt foolish. Until she found a guy with a light. Then, only I felt foolish.

So, I always carry a light. When I don't need it, I hide it. That still leaves me, "Do you have a light?" but, I am prepared when asked that very question. You have to be careful when you play this game, though. If you ask for a light and are seen with one later, it's awkward. I started carrying matches. That way, I can pretend I found them and preserve my dignity. It works.

The smoking ban made things tough for a while, but I adapted to that, too. I spent less time in bars and more time outside them. That's where the smokers go. I learned this one night on the Upper West Side. I was in a bar, reprising my pre-smoking failures with small talk. So, I gave up my bar stool reluctantly and shoved my way out of the tavern. Within seconds, my courage stick was ignited, and I heard those magic words. "Gotta light?" Unfortunately, her boyfriend needed one as well, but the lesson was worth it. After a while, I stopped drinking completely and just smoked.

Winter brought another lesson. It's cold outside. When it's cold, I realized, people don't want to fish through their pockets for a lighter. I took the opportunity to develop some new material. Instead of waiting to be asked for a light, I started to offer one right away with, "Here, let me get that for you." A wind-proof lighter made that even better.

Before I knew it, I was initiating conversation, unthinkable in my non-smoking days. Spring came, and I worried that my gimmick wouldn't work. It wasn't cold any more. Fortunately, I had another realization: people are lazy. They don't want to search for a light. They want it to be brought to them. I spent the spring and summer being polite, offering my services as a lighter of cigarettes. In this small way, and in this way alone, I brought pleasure to the women of Manhattan.

I also switched back to matches, except on windy days. I would strike a match and quickly cup the flame with my free hand, gently guiding it to her waiting mouth. I learned that I could get closer to a woman this way, perhaps inviting her to reciprocate.

Overwhelmed by the bond of our shared addiction, I once tried to steal a kiss as I moved the fire to her delicate Virginia Slim. We laugh about it now that her lip has healed. She thinks I just slipped, which is good enough for me. Her husband was a sport, too. He bought me a lighter.