Hehe, smoking fan fiction. Er, non-fiction.
I rip open a new pack of American Spirit, regulars. Their thick, fresh smell fills the room - somewhat like the smell of raisins. 20 cigarettes. I lay the smooth, crackling white paper rods carefully into my cigarette case, saving one to enjoy first. I step outside, hastily drawing my leather jacket around me in the humid, chill Texas midnight air.
For a solemn moment, I hear the crickets outside. There is not a soul on the road right now - silence in the immediate area, but a dull roar from the city 20 minutes away. I breathe the air deeply, and turn the cigarette to admire its cool unbroken cylindricality. I have a moment's pause while I silently give thanks to the tobacco plants, things of the earth and the soil that they are, and the few minutes of relaxed pleasure and thoughtful solitude they are going to give me. I place the filter in my mouth and inhale through the unlit cigarette, the somewhat sweet taste of the natural tobacco filling my mouth. Then, with a flick, fire springs up. I hesitate - the paper is so white, the tobacco smell so good, it's almost criminal to subject it to fire. Then the wind catches the flame and bends it toward the end of the cigarette, catching it alight. I catch my breath - it's almost innocence lost, I'm aging, we're all aging... I breathe deeply, and hold the first hit until I think I'm going to burst, then exhale, slowly, through my mouth and nose, savoring the taste and the sensation.
I lean against the railing of the balcony serenely contemplating Great Important Things, like politics, music, the future of our world, silently thankful for a few moments respite against things like bills, laundry, and other realities. I sit, alone under the night sky, enjoying, and smoking.
God I love smoking.
