he tick-flicked a cigarette in a rhythmic and nervous way over the plastic ashtray
trying to unstick ash that wasn’t through burning yet
so the cherry would rip if he didn’t stop
a thought crossed his mind that he felt like a slave and he was immediately embarrassed
but he couldn’t help reassure himself that he wasn’t absurd in the feeling
he smoked spitefully
precisely because his mother told him not to all the while growing up and when
he finally did quit he’d only start again once she was dead
strings of smoke hung about his head like Christmas garland just as gaudy and pointless as everything else
and when the smoke began to pour from the cigarette like a storm of wild horses he got scared and rubbed the butt into the old ashtray
out lifted that terrible odor like a chemical death and he lit another one right away
to fill his nostrils with a better smell
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