Time

My cup of watery tea is almost cold.

I light a cigarette and examine the

contents of a found book of gay erotic writing

The smells of tobacco insinuate me and smoke clogs my senses

I could stub it out for I’m a conscientious smoker,

or I could let it burn,

recline,

take another puff,

and meticulously smother the burning tip in ash.

Smoke.

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