and now you know
You walk alone down the streets that you’ve walked your whole life. You pass the houses of old childhood friends that had promised to be your best friend forever, but now you never talk to. You light your cigarette. You just started. Seven years of resistance against the evils of smoking and you finally start. Not because of “peer pressure”, or stress but because of the simple want to relive boredom. You want to get addicted that’s why you’re smoking.
You turn down a street, you don’t want to go this way but you don’t want to ruin the solitude of the night by passing the man standing in his front lawn so you take the long way. You take a drag on the stick of death that you decided would be a good idea to smoke and watch the flame eat up the cigarette and wonder why its so short. You’re going to be finished soon but you don’t want to start a new one.
The streets are so quite at night you think. The night birds are out; they’re singing their song, its calming. You don’t mind the neighbor hood so much when no ones there. Your cigarettes done you toss it to the ground and step it out. You pick up the butt. You don’t believe in littering.
A car drives by. It’s driving slowly. You watch it drive past you and drive down the next street. Drunk; you assume. You j-walk. You broke the law. Several. Your out passed city curfew. You’re a minor with cigarettes. You reach your destination. By this time you’re smoking a second tar rod, which you told yourself wasn’t a good idea. You still have the nicotine rush you were told goes away.
You sit on the park bench and watch the cars drive by. Teenagers you presume. Drunk or high. Their parents don’t know where they are. Your no different you think now. The difference is that your parents don’t care where you are. You finish your early death and sit for a little while later. You check the time. 12:00. You make the call. Time to go home. You wish you could smoke more. You wish you hadn’t thought that. You look at all the cars now. You watch everyone. They might drive by.
You get home. She’s not there. You go to the kitchen. Your leach of a room mates in there. He’s getting a glass of milk. You wait. He leaves. You make your self some coffee. You crave another of those highly addictive drugs. Another of those society accepted drugs. You crave the rush. You want another cigarette. But you’ll wait. Patience, you know, makes everything better.
She’s here. You hear the car. You walk outside. You forget the coffee.
You turn down a street, you don’t want to go this way but you don’t want to ruin the solitude of the night by passing the man standing in his front lawn so you take the long way. You take a drag on the stick of death that you decided would be a good idea to smoke and watch the flame eat up the cigarette and wonder why its so short. You’re going to be finished soon but you don’t want to start a new one.
The streets are so quite at night you think. The night birds are out; they’re singing their song, its calming. You don’t mind the neighbor hood so much when no ones there. Your cigarettes done you toss it to the ground and step it out. You pick up the butt. You don’t believe in littering.
A car drives by. It’s driving slowly. You watch it drive past you and drive down the next street. Drunk; you assume. You j-walk. You broke the law. Several. Your out passed city curfew. You’re a minor with cigarettes. You reach your destination. By this time you’re smoking a second tar rod, which you told yourself wasn’t a good idea. You still have the nicotine rush you were told goes away.
You sit on the park bench and watch the cars drive by. Teenagers you presume. Drunk or high. Their parents don’t know where they are. Your no different you think now. The difference is that your parents don’t care where you are. You finish your early death and sit for a little while later. You check the time. 12:00. You make the call. Time to go home. You wish you could smoke more. You wish you hadn’t thought that. You look at all the cars now. You watch everyone. They might drive by.
You get home. She’s not there. You go to the kitchen. Your leach of a room mates in there. He’s getting a glass of milk. You wait. He leaves. You make your self some coffee. You crave another of those highly addictive drugs. Another of those society accepted drugs. You crave the rush. You want another cigarette. But you’ll wait. Patience, you know, makes everything better.
She’s here. You hear the car. You walk outside. You forget the coffee.