i remember one morning i woke up and it was half til eight and the only thing i knew to do was go out for a morning (give or take) smoke. i caught the lady’s hand for the slowwwww (!) minute she left as the earth turned away from her embrace. and like that, it was evening and it was cold and it was good.
it was too early for sirens, but there they were in the distance. a smoke. to them! as tribute. i smiled to myself at the thought.
i hated that word. god, i hated it! for whatever reason, nothing sounds more juvenile to me than stog or torch and their cousins. i offered him my pack.
“twenty-sevens! these are my shit.”
“the Homie Cigarette,” he said. he laughed.
i fished around my coat pocket for my bic. they say you always carry a white bic when you die.
what a funny thing i found myself saying. we fell silent for a bit.
“where you from?” he asked.
“california.” i responded. i never did like to say i was from L A. it always felt funny to me. L A. i almost felt as though it was something i didn’t want to admit. as if i would disappoint them.
“oh, cool,” he said. “i’m from michigan.”
he nodded. he was not from there, but he understood.
his name was steven. “steven!” he insisted, “not steve.” steven from michigan, out here to see the world. “i’m here,” he said, “to find a job. you know how hard it is to find a job here? it’s shit everywhere, you know. i thought it would be easier here, but it’s not.” it never is, he insisted over and over again. the grass is always greener on the other side. “but the other side is green shit that just looks like grass when you’re on the other side. anything that’s green looks like grass, but everything’s shit.” “everything’s shit.” that seemed to be his motto. but you could hear an undeniable hope in his voice. self-preservation. everything’s shit. but he believed in something better. we all do, in some sense. at some point, we all believe that things can’t get worse than they are now. than they were then*
i shared another two with him. he talked some about how things were in michigan. “i went through a whole lot of shit, but it’s okay now.” “i’m actually pretty happy it all happened.” “it’s like i’m finally in a place where i can not give a fuck, you know?” “God, it feels so good to be away from all that shit.” “hey, thanks for the smokes--i’ll get you if i see you next time.” “man--california--the weather really as great as they say?” “i’ve been to san francisco a few times when i was a kid.” “my cousins live there.” “the thing about cigarettes.” “i mean the reason i don’t think i can ever quit.” “it’s just the closest thing i get to feeling something in my chest is the smoke in my lungs.”
he was full of shit, but i could appreciate the sentiment.
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