posted on Dec, 8 2006 @ 12:01 PM
I was lying on the dirty, hard box of material sometimes referred to as beds, by the folks behind the counters of the endless 'L' shaped, two story
dwellings that I always find myself in; lost in the swirls of familiar hazy orange neon shadows, that ebbed liked tides across the popcorn cieling.
I stood for the _ "Those things are going to kill you", I recall my wife saying once, or a hundred times. She was so happy when I quit.
There was no guilt as I opened that small box that fit so well in the hand, folded back the aluminum covering, and withdrew the very center cigarette.
"Sweetheart", I said aloud. "If you'd seen what I'd seen today, you would light this for me."
I cracked the window, smoked, and watched a police officer across the street, place a handcuffed suspect into the rear of his squad car. The black
cat I had come across yesterday on the stoop was watching from the tops of the cars parked below.
My cellphone rang from the bathroom. I turned to run and grab it when with a tremendous bang, the door to the hallway, blew off it's hinges and
smashed squarely into me, knocking me to the floor.
-I guess its a little more than 100, but oh well, i had fun with it.