Ode to the Smoke

smokers
Of all the ways to pass the day, how fantastic would it be to break every hour or two, walk down the stairs, and stand out in the warm sun. For a pack a day, a fantastic relief could be had, a calming nerve agent with a habit that sets me apart for the rest.

Unfortunately, I'm not one who partakes of these delectable little sticks.  Not one, who sits by my computer typing away with an ash laden try by it's side, and a cig dangling from the mouth. I don't enjoy a "smoke break" in the way my poker buddies do during those Monday night games. Nor do I get to be the pal whom one can bum a smoke.

Maybe with a little perseverance as a child I could have picked up the addiction. Maybe, I should have spent more time with the smokers, the not so cool kids who now get a reprieve from the military formation line. Maybe then, I could hold my head high as an adult, blow smoke in the face of that passerby with the dirty look, or even maybe, I could be that guy, who with a flick of the wrist lands a butt in the lap of the guy in the car who cut me off near the previous intersection. 

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