I don’t want to. But it’s “right”, and it drives Tony crazy. Hell, I remember those days when I used to beg David not to smoke, I remember saying how disgusting it was, how I looked down on smokers.

But then I made friends with cigarettes, and in a lot of situations, they were my only comfort, the shoulder I leaned on that did not judge, did not give comments, did not think, but allowed me to Marlboro my way through whatever pain or inconvenience I was feeling. I miss my buddies.

Rush hour, driving in the heat of the day:

radio sucks. why don’t i ever remember to get my CDs out of tony’s car?

damn, it’s getting hot.

should i get my windows tinted? i’m gonna need it real soon. then it’ll matter if i roll up my windows.

*sniff sniff*

ohhhh.

a cigarette.

that chick in the SUV up there has a cigarette.

looks like a red. i don’t smoke reds. would taste like shit. don’t need it.

but that gas station right there has MLMs, i could walk in there, and it would be so cool inside, and i’d buy a pack of cigs and they would taste so good. i’m an adult, i can buy cigarettes, they’re legal. fuck it.

NO. KEEP DRIVING, DON’T STOP.

whew. made it.

my head feels all tense. that means i need a cigarette.

tony would never have to know. i could hide them in my glove box, and just smoke one when i’m stressed out.

which is always. so i’d always be smoking. again. and that’s not the point, he’s not my headmaster, he’s my boyfriend.

i don’t want to lie to him. i am such a bad liar i’d be found out in ten minutes anyway.

my breath would smell like smokes.

ooh, who cares, my breath would smell like smokes because i would taste cigarettes and feel GOOD!

but i can do this, this quitting thing, i don’t need no stinkin’ expensive patch bullshit crap like a weenie addict. didn’t help last time, i just found a real legitimate-esque excuse to smoke again.

that pimply teenage dude in a vastly luxurious black tinted SUV is smoking an MLM, i’d swear to God. wonder if he’d toss me one, just one. i only need one.

…leaning out window at 50 mph, “hey, i’m an insane lady driving down the road in a car that costs as much as your brake pedal, and could you out of the kindness of your pimply heart toss me a smoke? i’d be grateful…”

nah, fuck it. i don’t need no stinkin’ charity.

if i flipped that six-year-old in that deeply tinted volvo off would i go to hell? the mom wouldn’t see it, i could get away with it. what’s she gonna do anyway, sue me? wouldn’t help anything, the kid wouldn’t know what i was doing.

bitch! cut me off, shit. should have flipped him off anyway. damn.

i need a cigarette.

Can smoke again without guilt if:

–Beloved family member passes away.

–Tony breaks up with me.

–Lose job.

–um…um…gimme a minute…damn…

It is good for me to quit because:

–Millions of doctors say so.

–Tony wants me to.

–Even the makers of MLMs say they’re dangerous.

–It ages people.

–I can avoid that look that family members/Tony/everyone I know who doesn’t smoke gives me when any ill effect of smoking is mentioned on TV/the radio.

Shit. I am never going to smoke again.

I would, right now, honestly, smoke a six-week-old MLM butt from our porch, which is why our porch is currently empty of cigarette butts. But I will never stoop to smoking someone else’s cigarette butt. In Stillwater, where the indigent are morosely and permanently indigent, I saw that dishevelled woman stop, stoop down, and pick up a half-smoked cig off the street. Could have been anybody’s. And still, she wanted it. Never that.