Northport, Alabama

“Those things’ll kill you,” the clerk says. “They’re cancer sticks. Death nails.”

I move my lips and hope it comes out as a smile. My friends relinquished the habit long ago. I just started, and already the jokes are as stale as the week-old smoke clinging to my body. I’ve seen the warnings, heard the public service announcements. Truth is, I don’t give a fuck.

The sun rises and I reach for Dunhills, made in London and wrapped in white, tasting of smoked cheese and shortbread. Tasting like hope. The sun sets and I reach for Djarum Blacks, made in Indonesia and coated in spices, tasting of cinnamon and cloves.

In the darkness, I sit in my swing, motionless save the ceaseless hand to mouth. Sweet masks the smoke, and eugenol numbs the pain.

Life should be like that.

Music: Like A Prayer by Madonna (lyrics)

Posted on October 11, 2007 by Carmen K. Sisson tagged Alabama, Northport, smoking, writing