even bitches smoke ·
8 March 05

So I ended up smoking, even though this morning I thought the nagging feeling of ash in my mouth would be enough to put me off. I had money in my pocket and that went straight to Mr Treasury of Govt Inc and of course Uncle Tobacco Ltd. I ended up not feeling sick this time, except for afterwards.

Having lit one, not with any supressed excitement, but more of a “here we go again”, repetitous juncture I took my first lung full of smoke, pondering as to whether my throat would start bleeding again. It didn’t, so that was a positive sign that the cancer stick wasn’t going to cause any immediate effect to my illness. I’ll be honest, and say I didn’t particularly enjoy it.

At first my lungs felt heavy, my chest tightened like a vice and my head was spinning like a carousel. I could feel the nicotine entering my blood stream, or the feeling at least even it was some psychological delusion of the fact. My legs became quite heavy, and my steady pace slowly began to drop. Breathing became more difficult, which is why I always have to carry my asthma pump around, but it didn’t get very intense until I actually sat down and rested. Then I felt the full effect, coupled with my fever I felt I was going to throw up.

On the way back I smoked another, again with hesitation and dread, but I had them so I will smoke them. Two girls ahead were doing their teenage dance steps, laughing and giggling, probably in their early teens, possibly younger than 16. All girls less than 25 years of age tend to look the same to me; that same childish attitude, and girlish behaviour with maturity several milestones away – that is until they get in with a heavy drug user, and then it’s all fucking tears and sympathy.

They asked for a smoke as they approached, I kept my head down and thought “fuck it”. I took out my box without saying anything and stopped offering them a Marlboro Light. They thanked me with sympathetic sounds; the sort of noise you hear when a baby first takes it steps across the floor, only to fall back down to Earth and crack it’s fragile skull.

Two girls ahead were doing their teenage dance steps, laughing and giggling, probably in their early teens, possibly younger than 16. All girls less than 25 years of age tend to look the same to me

Then they asked for a lighter, and again without saying anything I offered them the orange clipper I fumbled around in my pockets to find. Once more they offered their sympathetic thank you with a berating “awww”. I should’ve just been my normal self and snapped their little fucking heads and say, “awwww”.

I didn’t lift my head up to look at them, instead looking around at everything else. Yet, the first girl on the left dressed in her Adidas gear decided to say something more patronising than her dolphin sounds,

“You know, it’s people like you that put a smile on our faces.”
“Yeah we really appreciate it, you’re so nice.”

I looked at them with a shrugging look, not really interested in a thank you, but more so less in a conversation with two kids who probably tried that line with every 15 year old, testosterone exploding boy. I wasn’t interested, I didn’t care and I wanted to go. They offered their thanks, and I just kept walking.

For all the isolation smoking offers me, I guess the only dreaded thing that it attracts is other, uninteresting smokers of a wide variety. All offering thanks, but never really meaning it. I mean, what kind of idiot thanks someone for giving them chemicals intended to screw up their system, possibly cause 101 diseases with the potential for serious illness?