“Not Really," he said then lit a cigarette and handed it to me. I inhaled. Coughed. Wheezed. Gasped for breath. Coughed again. Considered vomiting. Grabbed the swinging bench, head spinning, and threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped on it, convinced my Great Perhaps did not involve cigarettes.”
“He threw his burning cigarette onto our clean living room floor and ground it into the wood with his boot.We were about to become cigarettes.”
“He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply, the tip flaring an angry red. “Isn’t love a beautiful goddamn liar?”
“He laughed, tried to make it into a cough, inhaled at exactly the wrong moment, and then really did cough.”
“Her love was like cigarette smoke stirred into coffee. I drank it so fast it made me cough, but she’s not offering a refill at any price.”
“I'm trying to quit,” he said. “Just so you know.” He lit the cigarette and inhaled so long and so deep it sounded like air being let out of a tire.”