Day 6

I never used to smoke. Not for years. And I used to boast it at times or when asked for a cigarette – I’ve never smoked, not one, no. But everyone always asked me for cigarettes, like I looked like I should smoke and I wondered if they were right. But, that’s not why I started smoking.

There seemed to be far too many occasions when it would be perfect to smoke. After sex with tea, on a coffee date. Ducking into a phone booth in the wind and the rain to spark one as people look to a grey sky and worry about the barbeque they’d planned. In breaks of uni classes – that’s a good time to smoke. Otherwise I was standing outside fingering my pockets. Smoking began to fill those empty times. But now I’ve lost those times. I seem busier, really. Like smoking is now a full part of the day and I never relax.

A kid died today, eaten by sharks. I don’t know how I feel about that.

There’s a poet up the corner who hands out poems handwritten on a bit of paper. He says free words, but then puts his hand out for coins. I took one once and it said Is it the sweetness of the honey that draws the ant to death? Or death itself, and honey just the sweeter end?

I had stuck it to the wall in the toilet, and looked at it again this morning when I heard about the kid eaten by sharks. I guess we are drawn to death – like everything we do is a precursor to death, as much as it is homage to life. And these idiots swimming near sharks, jumping off bridges into rivers; it’s all about death. Cheating death; maybe that’s what it is?

Just as time draws us forward in seconds, death draws us forward in actions. I’ve been thinking about that for a while.

I haven’t smoked after sex for a bit. But smoking does help me pull girls at pubs. I kissed a girl the other night because I’d asked her outside for a smoke. Once I had a smoke on my mind though, I had to get through that before I could kiss her. But if I didn’t smoke, what would I ask her out for? So I could see if it was raining and whether I could still barbeque the next day, and did she want to come?

by Sparrokei

diary