Or me. Especially me.
Maybe it is 30 after 2 in the morning. I have been feeling quite shitty while smoking. It really doesn't make me feel better. No. But I had two anyway.
Seriously, it is crappy. All those chemicals don't make me happy. Not at all.
And I was reminded of my first ever. I was, what? 14 or 15? It was out of curiosity. I didn't cough like every first timer we see on TV. It didn't revolt me either. It is as if the cig was made for me. Hey, I'm a natural. Like that 2 year old Indonesian baby? Yeah, just that my parents were two responsible peeps back then. Else I won't be here, crapping. I'd be pushing up daisies.
I looked into the mirror in the washroom. I saw a quite pretty young lady. Okay, I may not have high cheek bones, no flawless radiant fair skin. But I am pretty. hey, I am.
There are 5 remnants in the almost crumpled red box. I promised. They are my last, after failing to just flush all of them in the toilet. Or just toss them into the thrash bin. I don't know if it's a promise I could keep.
And just suddenly, I felt my stomach revolt.