WORKS ON DIGITAL PAPER

North Sidewalk of Spring Street

I miss smoking. Really. I don't care how bad it is for me. If I could, I would. The allure of taking a long drag off a cigarette, that crackling sensation as the smoke spirals down my esophagus and fills my chest, the inevitable emission of sweet fog that curls out of my mouth and nose filling the air with just that right amount of ambiance. In a cafe, on the street, in a bar, on a boat. Anywhere and everywhere, it fills the place with that special something. If I could, I would. But I can't. For a few years it has been the case that were I to smoke even one cigarette, the next day my sinuses will clog, nasal breathing capacity cut in half. A headache will ensue. And so I sit here, watching you unlucky few smoke your gorgeous little stubs, and wonder at my supposed life expectancy.