Smoking

V noticed I’ve gone quiet. She’s right. The signs are all there — less writing, less meditating, more porn, worse diet, and worst of all, I’ve been sneaking cigarettes.

Apparently, I can’t resist a half-pack of cigarettes left lying around.

The anatomy of craving a cigarette — mental, bodily, and the tricks my brain plays to get me to succumb.

The shame of buying a pack, and the way my body betrays me by feeling better the moment I decide to do it.

Tamora tells me she’s not ambivalent about me, but something’s going on because she cancels the vast majority of our dates. This one, though, she didn’t cancel. Thankfully.

Smoking is really fucking complicated.

Five in a drawer, two smoked, two remaining. I never said math was among my talents.

She actually came fifty times. For real.

Are drugs fucking with my cock?