CarrollBlog

Sometimes I miss smoking. It's been years since I stopped but sometimes like a delicious pungent smell that appears out of nowhere, nostalgia for them hits me. Pulling that first one from a new pack, the flick of the match or the metallic whizz of the lighter under your thumb, the first puffs that are not very strong because the cigarette hasn't really gotten going yet. The small satisfaction of tapping a long gray ash off in an ashtray. The cha cha twist of the fingers stubbing out the butt when you're done. The half empty pack of matches in your pocket. The circus colored disposable lighters you'd buy two at a time because they were so easy to lose. What more perfect dessert was there than a cigarette after dinner? Or one after sex? That magical, intimate few minutes when you shared a cigarette for the first time with someone new in your life. A friend explained it well: The problem with cigarettes is that they're your best friend because they're always there for you. If you're happy, they're there to share the moment with you. If you're depressed they're there. Tired? There. Nervous? There. They may end up killing you but a better, truer friend is not to be found. The only thing that comes close is a good dog.