Adam and His Cigarette

Along a dusty, derelict street Adam sits down on the curb. Out of luck, out of time, and out of stories to write, he reaches into his jeans’ pocket. And out he pulls a flaming red box of Marlboro Reds. He takes one more look at the box — “ this will be my last” he reluctantly lies to himself.

Suddenly the cigarette he pulls out, begins to talk to him:

Cigarette: Puff me Adam. Puff me good

Adam: what the fuck, you can talk?!

Cigarette: Puff me Adam before it’s too late

Adam: Okay whatever, here it goes

Adam puffs real good. He coughs and wheezes.

Cigarette: Good my son. You have made your first step to being ‘cool’. You want to be ‘cool’ no?

Adam: Yes, cigarette, I want to be ‘cool’.

Cigarette: Good, good then puff me again. Puff me once more

Adam puffs again. He coughs and wheezes again.

Cigarette: Can you taste the ‘coolness’? Can you feel the ‘coolness’?

Adam could only taste tar and paper filter, but he did indeed feel ‘cool’.

Adam: Cigarette, what do I do now?

Cigarette: You see that man over there, with that ‘uncool’ leather jacket. I want you to punch him in the face.

Adam: But why?

Cigarette: Oh sorry, I thought someone wanted to be ‘cool’. Just ash me and throw me on the floor now, unless you still want to be ‘cool’.

Adam nervous of not being ‘cool’ gets up, sighs and then smashes his fist into the unsuspecting pedestrian, causing him to pass out.

Adam: Okay cigarette I did your bidding. Am I ‘cool’ yet?

Cigarette: You, my friend, are more than ‘cool’. You are a smoker.

Adam throws the cigarette down and ashes it, tired of the conversation. He looks at the Marlboro Reds again. 19 more to go, baby.

20 years later

Adam lies in a hospital bed, suffering from 4th stage lung cancer. He looks across his gurney to the table where his still treasured Marlboros sit.

Adam: Am I still ‘cool’ cigarette?

The cigarette doesn’t respond.

--

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Writer, poet, philosopher,

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Adam Saul Krok

Adam Saul Krok

Writer, poet, philosopher,

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