let's just say
Every time I wake up hungover from a hard night, I could swear that I smoked the night before. There's no way to be absolutely sure because my memories are always hazy, but when I try to put the pieces back together, I always seem to find a memory involving cigarettes. I give it about another half hour of thinking until I text my friends and ask if I had smoked, and they always say no. I suppose it means I didn't, but the memories are always so vivid.
They're always set at night, sometime between midnight and 2am. I'm standing outside in a coat, huddled in a circle formation with a bunch of strangers. I'm always just drunk enough. Sometimes, I'm smoking Shermans (probably my own). Other times, I'm smoking Marlboro Lights (presumably bummed off someone I met that night). Once in a while, I'm smoking menthols (a sign that I've given up completely). It's cold, and I can feel the pads of my dry and frozen fingers brush against the paper filter. I take a drag, and I close my eyes as the flush of smoke rushes down my throat and the sound of a passing car whistles by.
And that's where the memories always end. There's nothing about the people I'm standing with and no memory of stamping out the butt. I only remember the dry fingers, cold air, drag, and passing car.
So I lie in bed with my phone in my hand, staring at my friends' texts that all report that I had not smoked. I bring my left hand to my nose and smell nothing. From there, I roll out of bed and hit the coffee machine on the way out.
I can still remember my last cigarette. It was kind of like our last interaction in that it was desperate and (regrettably) forgettable. It's been a strange two months. I don't know if this feeling or memory will ever go away.
They're always set at night, sometime between midnight and 2am. I'm standing outside in a coat, huddled in a circle formation with a bunch of strangers. I'm always just drunk enough. Sometimes, I'm smoking Shermans (probably my own). Other times, I'm smoking Marlboro Lights (presumably bummed off someone I met that night). Once in a while, I'm smoking menthols (a sign that I've given up completely). It's cold, and I can feel the pads of my dry and frozen fingers brush against the paper filter. I take a drag, and I close my eyes as the flush of smoke rushes down my throat and the sound of a passing car whistles by.
And that's where the memories always end. There's nothing about the people I'm standing with and no memory of stamping out the butt. I only remember the dry fingers, cold air, drag, and passing car.
So I lie in bed with my phone in my hand, staring at my friends' texts that all report that I had not smoked. I bring my left hand to my nose and smell nothing. From there, I roll out of bed and hit the coffee machine on the way out.
I can still remember my last cigarette. It was kind of like our last interaction in that it was desperate and (regrettably) forgettable. It's been a strange two months. I don't know if this feeling or memory will ever go away.