Smokin’ Weed

Why must the person next to me pull his cigar out and start smoking?  Imagine the puffs of smoke flowing at your direction.  Now imagine the smoke running up your nostrils, down your windpipe, and through your tracheoles into your lungs.  Ah well.  You will get a blackened pair of organs in no time should you continue to breathe in the exhaust from somebody’s butt (ewe?).

There is the factor of coolness in the lighting of the cigarette, a coolness unbeknownst (I only use this word when I am writing!) to many.  The very elegance of the act invokes a feeling of self-efficacy.  Self-efficacy.  Hello! Did I just write self-efficacy?  Oh goodness.

What is it with the young people of the 21st century?  I wonder if it makes them look adult-ish with their rolled-up nicotine between their lips.  Yeah, and I heard that new tools have been invented to help smokers… smoke more!  There are the electric cigars and the shishas from Persia.  Well, does it matter where they were born?  They carry the same effect.

I have never put anything between my plush lips like that puffing out at people’s faces.  Not that I am proud of it.  It makes no more sense to slowly drag people’s body to the graves than that of yours.  Besides, there is so much more to live for than committing the act.  Even once.

So much more.  I cannot even count with my ten fingers.


Lighting the cigar.


Red Scarlet


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