cigarette

i step outside and survey the scene. darkness and street lamps. dead grass, snow, and concrete. no cars, and tall buildings in nearly every direction. a college campus can appear quite barren at 10pm on a winter night, and for that fact, i was thankful. it was safe. pacing about as i reach into my pocket, i begin to notice the silence. dead silence. i could hear my ears ringing.

i produce a single cigarette from my coat pocket. a camel light. but no ordinary camel light. it had been tampered with, tainted, filled with the devil weed. the tip was crumpled, but otherwise, it was perfectly in tact. i put the filter to my lips, exhaled deeply, sparked the lighter, put the flame to the cigarette, and inhaled deeply. i inhale with my diaphragm, not my lungs. i feel my lungs expand low in my abdomen, and hold. the smoke does not burn, but instead, soothes and relaxes. i feel no need to cough. my tongue is pressed lightly to the roof of my mouth. i can taste the blend of green and brown plants, ignited by flame and turned to ash and smoke, in my saliva. i do, i admit, feel like spitting. but at this exact moment, spitting is out of the question. my sole purpose on this planet for the next 2 minutes is to cling desperately to that smoke.

i exhale. before breathing in some smooth, clean, fresh air, i take another deep drag from the cigarette.

suddenly, the dark night became bright. my surroundings become increasingly vivid in the light of the street lamps. i become excitedly aware of my hands, arms and legs, and begin to shift position. i can’t tell if my heart is speeding up or slowing down, but it feels like it must be doing something different.

i exhale. i watch the smoke as the wind catches it and wisps it away into nothingness. i take a more casual drag. i am no longer in a rush. the delicate and precious smoke of the tip of this cigarette was now nonexistent. the high was all that remained.