*** A smoker's confession ***

“Hey man, gimme a light.”
“Sure…hey, who’s got the lighter?”
“I’ve got it. Here.”
Light up.
Take a drag
Exhale.
Repeat.

~~~~~~~~

I gave it up two years ago. Serious. I know that there are a lot of people who go cold turkey and then pick up the habit again in a week, but I’m not one of them. I really don’t need it.
Shit, of course I’ve heard the stories. You know, the shaking limbs, the hacking cough, the holes in the throat. Heard it all, seen it all before.
Well, of course it’s bad for me. Killing’s probably bad for everyone, but I don’t see anyone trying to abolish wars. It’s not a good point, especially since I know it’s bad for me, you screwball. If I didn’t think it was bad for me, I wouldn’t have quit two years ago, right? Oh come on. There are always special cases.
Why do I do it? Come on. Don’t you ever get tired of this life? Shit, you know about the pettiness that surrounds us, the monotony that makes up everyday life, the sad fact that everything worth having in this life is impossible to obtain without an inordinate amount of work. Don’t you get tired of it? Bullshit, I know you do. I do. My point is, that’s why I do it.
Look…it’s like this. As solid as I appear sometimes, I’m not made to deal with it all, all the damn time. Shut up, I’m not perfect. If I was perfect, you wouldn’t be hassling me about this. Anyway, let me go on. Sometimes I need an escape…yeah, I know it sounds cliché, but it’s true. I need to walk away from this life and spend some time outside it before I can come back in and immerse myself again.
I know it’s killing me. Look, didn’t I say I quit? I’m only having a few. That’s the whole point anyway. Every single time I breathe out, I’m dying a little bit, and that’s what I want. I die a little bit so I can get away from life. You don’t quite get it? Maybe. Sometimes I think that I don’t belong in this world. It takes me out of all of this for a short time. Yeah, I know. I exhale my life every time. Hey, I’m gonna die sooner or later.
What, that? Oh, that’s nothing. I used to go through one a day back before I quit. Probably irreparably damaged my lungs, but hey, no use in crying over spilled milk, right? Anyway. I had a few, don’t get on my case. Look, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

~~~~~~~~

Last drag of the night.
Watching the moonlight filter through the haze.

And I’m gone.