(no subject)
I have my hands propped on either side of the shower head. My head is down and I'm looking at the floor of the shower. The water is dripping down my hair and I know as long as I keep staring into the floor of the shower my hair will act as a sort of umbrella... sheltering the cigarette from that which would take my precious away from me.
I'm twenty-one and I'm smoking in my shower. All I can think about is that I'm twenty-one and I'm fucking smoking in my shower.
I'm not wearing my glasses and I can't see the ashes that fall off when I flick the filter with my tongue. I know that they sit on the floor of the shower, inbetween my legs, and just for a moment-before the water running from the shower head, through my hair, and over my shoulders-the ashes are suspended in little clumps of spent tobacco. Then they're diluted, and I'm standing in a grey puddle of ash and smoke. The air smells right. I think it sounds silly to believe that a closed environment saturated with steam and smoke could possibly smell right... but it does.
I pull the cigarette out from under my hair and cradle it in my right hand while I throw my hair back with the other. The filter gets a bit wet, but it's still smokable. My shower has a seat built into the wall so I take advantage of the place to rest, but not before I aim the showerhead away from where I plan to sit and smoke.
Some time goes by and I'm rather enjoying myself, but my smoke is spent. So I hold it under the water pouring down my hands and it goes out instantly. I can see the tainted letters reading "Export 'a'" and the brown tobacco that was previously hidden by the white blanket it's rolled in.
I don't know. I'm twenty one and I'm smoking in the fucking shower.
I'm twenty-one and I'm smoking in my shower. All I can think about is that I'm twenty-one and I'm fucking smoking in my shower.
I'm not wearing my glasses and I can't see the ashes that fall off when I flick the filter with my tongue. I know that they sit on the floor of the shower, inbetween my legs, and just for a moment-before the water running from the shower head, through my hair, and over my shoulders-the ashes are suspended in little clumps of spent tobacco. Then they're diluted, and I'm standing in a grey puddle of ash and smoke. The air smells right. I think it sounds silly to believe that a closed environment saturated with steam and smoke could possibly smell right... but it does.
I pull the cigarette out from under my hair and cradle it in my right hand while I throw my hair back with the other. The filter gets a bit wet, but it's still smokable. My shower has a seat built into the wall so I take advantage of the place to rest, but not before I aim the showerhead away from where I plan to sit and smoke.
Some time goes by and I'm rather enjoying myself, but my smoke is spent. So I hold it under the water pouring down my hands and it goes out instantly. I can see the tainted letters reading "Export 'a'" and the brown tobacco that was previously hidden by the white blanket it's rolled in.
I don't know. I'm twenty one and I'm smoking in the fucking shower.