It’s been said that where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
And I’m inclined to believe them.
I’ve been trying to quit, really I have. And I’ve mostly done well.
I’ve gotten down to two or three a week, all told. But I admit, sometimes I can’t resist.
Like now. The smell of gasoline, the warmth of flames in my face, the sound of screaming inside as the owners of the house wake up.
It’s a beautiful moment. Tranquil, perfect. And afterwards I crave a cigarette more than I can resist...
...so maybe they have it backward.
Where there’s fire, I smoke.