I get the first moments peace since Wednesday night. A 6 year old lab has been tearing up my apartment, and generally making me unable to take a deep breathe in days.
I hand him over to his owner. Walk up the flight of stairs to my apartment and throw on shoes that don't smell like rain water that's dried. I head towards my neighborhood liquor store.
The guy behind the counter smiles and asks "How're you today?"
They stopped carding me years ago. Two? Maybe longer.
They gave up asking me if I needed a pack of cigarettes in just as much time. They know I quit.
Is it sad or reassuring that your neighborhood liquor store owners know you?
I like it.
I put down the large bottle of white wine and tell the man I need a pack of Marlboro lights. He gives me a suspicious look and says "Marb lights?"
"Yep."
"Ok."
I shove everything back into my pockets and walk the 2 minutes back home.
I sit down, contemplating if I should light up a cigarette. My phone rings, it's my friend that now lives in California.
I know why he's calling. 5 minutes prior I saw someone we both knew had died. Facebook is good for one thing.
He tells me what happened. How sudden it was. How he had just spoken to him 2 days before he died. He has a bit of a laugh in his voice, I can tell he's holding back. He lets it slip that he's sick of people he knows dying. It's the second this year, that I know of, that he was close to.
I don't know what to say. I tell him I'm sorry. Bret was a fighter, and I'm shocked.
I made up my mind.
I open up the pack of cigarettes and light one.
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