I was waiting for the University shuttle the other day when a tough-looking broad approached me. “HEY!” she said, a little too loudly. “YOU GOTTA CIGARETTE?” She moved her hand in front of her face in a smokey-smokey gesture.
“No,” I murmured demurely.
“I’LL PAY YOU!” she blared.
I shook my head.
She shrugged and turned away. There was a guy parked across the street with his window rolled down; she bulldozered over to him and gave him the same line (I could hear the same dialogue, and his muttered reply). She tilted back her head and bellowed: “DOESN’T ANYBODY SMOKE CIGARETTES ANYMORE?”
She stomped back across the street. As she reached the sidewalk, I saw her look down. She paused, and reached down into the gutter –
Please, god, I prayed to whatever god I pray to. Let her be picking up a quarter.
Nope. It was a cigarette butt. She held it up and triumphantly displayed it to someone back inside the building she’d come from. Hobo’s delight!
Hey, listen. I used to smoke. I remember waking up and realizing that I’d forgotten to buy cigarettes, and gone through the ashtrays to find some nice juicy butts. Late nights, no cigarettes, same thing.
Addiction is a terrible thing, kids. It makes us do grimy horrible things.
I’m not hooked on cigarettes anymore.
I am probably blind to my real addictions.
I wonder what my real addictions are?
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