I can definitely smell cigarettes, because my jumper, hair, blanket and attic bedroom generally reek of them. Saying this, I will now light a cigarette.
I want to quit - of course, but they are my most favourite vice. My favourite for one reason - you cannot articulate why a cigarette is enjoyable. There's no high, no dip into euphoria... not even a gentle diazapam-effect of lulling you into comfort. They're just habit, and they're mine. And I don't give a fuck.
I smoke when I write, when I think, when I work - so today about 20 cigarette butts are in my ashtray (a pop can)... but my Essay is becoming solidified, so it's a sensible trade.
It's so hilarious that Bill Hicks didn't die of lung cancer.
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