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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