I'm a smoker.*
However, I've been rather ill over the last few days (and presumptively will ,yet again be, over the next few..)so I haven't locked lips with my tobacco sticks in around 90 hours and it just happens that I also have no cigarettes left. Now, in the bantam one-horse-town I'm currently at, as a coup de main, it is insurmountable to get any of my charming cancer sticks in the mouth of the night.
I confess too. No, no, I can admit it. That I get inordinately disagreeable when I haven't saturated my lungs in smoke for a while. I've been fencing my urges all night, trying to hold out until the shops open but, alas, my urges parry better than I, it would seem.
I just went outside to my ashtray.
Wait.
Let me give you a brief description this ashtray.
It's basically a ceramic pot, one that, once up on a time, was used to contain a curry paste. It has however, never been washed out. The stagnant tidbit of paste at the bottom has grown in to a furry, saag aloo biome with a smell that's probably only rivaled by Bangladeshi cesspits. It's been outside, come rain and shine (and it's England, so mainly the rain part) for so long that it quite frequently overflows with metaphorical cats and dogs. This constant watering and drying cycle of my fallen-solider cigarette ends has formed a blubberous, glutinous tar-like substance with an odor that even I, your smoking fellow Escapee, have to battle - with all five of my senses, to not accommodate my shoes with my lunch.
Now, I've dissected a handful of these soggy, Cthulhuian deformities, reassembled them and smoked.
Every.
Last.
Bit.
I feel revolting!
Help me feel slightly less loathsome my Escapist cohorts by confessing your ugly sins here.
Ever done something you are embarrassed about, or feel less of a human for doing, but dare not tell anyone you know? Post it here, in this fairly incognito surrounding for us all to laugh at and feel slightly better about ourselves.
Do you dare?
*Please keep opinions about people who smoke to yourself.
However, I've been rather ill over the last few days (and presumptively will ,yet again be, over the next few..)so I haven't locked lips with my tobacco sticks in around 90 hours and it just happens that I also have no cigarettes left. Now, in the bantam one-horse-town I'm currently at, as a coup de main, it is insurmountable to get any of my charming cancer sticks in the mouth of the night.
I confess too. No, no, I can admit it. That I get inordinately disagreeable when I haven't saturated my lungs in smoke for a while. I've been fencing my urges all night, trying to hold out until the shops open but, alas, my urges parry better than I, it would seem.
I just went outside to my ashtray.
Wait.
Let me give you a brief description this ashtray.
It's basically a ceramic pot, one that, once up on a time, was used to contain a curry paste. It has however, never been washed out. The stagnant tidbit of paste at the bottom has grown in to a furry, saag aloo biome with a smell that's probably only rivaled by Bangladeshi cesspits. It's been outside, come rain and shine (and it's England, so mainly the rain part) for so long that it quite frequently overflows with metaphorical cats and dogs. This constant watering and drying cycle of my fallen-solider cigarette ends has formed a blubberous, glutinous tar-like substance with an odor that even I, your smoking fellow Escapee, have to battle - with all five of my senses, to not accommodate my shoes with my lunch.
Now, I've dissected a handful of these soggy, Cthulhuian deformities, reassembled them and smoked.
Every.
Last.
Bit.
I feel revolting!
Help me feel slightly less loathsome my Escapist cohorts by confessing your ugly sins here.
Ever done something you are embarrassed about, or feel less of a human for doing, but dare not tell anyone you know? Post it here, in this fairly incognito surrounding for us all to laugh at and feel slightly better about ourselves.
Do you dare?
*Please keep opinions about people who smoke to yourself.
