Bigger than cigarettes

This morning I saw a Cheetah smoking a cigarette. That es no bueno, I thought, her roots exploding on the top of her head like a dying star. Long printed spandex dress and non-matching printed bag, black nylons, black pumps – she stopped in front of my building, sucked in smoke and the morning, said “hello.” “Hello.” I’ve never seen her before. I wondered where she was going.
I’m noticing cigarettes lately – the way people hold them – some are sturdy like a nail between their fingers, some hang in their mouths like a limp dick, some people pinch them like joints. The stank entered my car this morning, but I couldn’t see where it came from. It lingered like a hunter in grass.

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