buy cigarettes
I hate the way your buy cigarettes manifest in my own sensibility, I hate the way I feel instantly cooler having one in my hand, hate the way my lips feel lightly holding one, hate that the Zippo lighter is one of the most elegant and beautiful small machines ever devised by man or woman, I hate the way your physical and psychological addictions blend into a single mosaic until you can no longer tell if each craving is the body chemistry demanding equilibrium or the mind’s impression of self panicking because the cigarette has become a vital accessory of your identity. I hate the way you will lower your eyes when confronted about your habit and mumble half-hearted acknowledgments for the one hundredth time that you should quit. I hate the way your eyes will flash defiantly and I hate the way I become your tyrannical oppressor, the way I tax you to pieces and deny you your bars and your airplanes and the way I force you to chew strange-tasting gum instead of enjoying your cigarette. I hate your insistence that I tolerate your habit, I hate your assumption that my feelings are less valid than the demands of your nicotine.
