Martin Everson shut the door to his office and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He knew he shouldn’t smoke in the office environment but he was testy and tense so he had to have one and now. The boss was out for the day and there was nothing important or urgent on the schedule so no one would be checking in. He lit up, sat back, inhaled the lovely smoke then held it inside himself.

Two days later he discovers his girlfriend has left. He calls her but she does not answer. He smokes a cigarette and thinks about her. An hour goes by and he calls her again. Nothing. She is gone. He shouldn’t call her again. She is gone and he shouldn’t call her. He should have another cigarette and never call her again. He should go to work the next day and have a cigarette and if he thinks about her then he should have another.

A week goes by and Martin is at home. It’s a Saturday afternoon, a game is on, he isn’t watching it, he’s smoking a cigarette, he’s trying not to think about the girlfriend, he tries to keep his mind on the cigarette, tries to get his mind back on the game, the tv is messed up, it doesn’t work right, the cigarette is almost gone, the girlfriend left, she’s gone, the cigarette tastes good and the game is on but the tv is messed up.

In a month Martin has no job. The boss caught him smoking, gave him chance after chance to stop, to abide by policy, to do the work and not smoke, but no, he smoked and thought about the girlfriend, and smoked some more.

He’s at home and he’s smoking again. Martin can’t stop smoking. The girlfriend left and he has no job. The cigarettes remain like newfound friends. Martin leaves the house and takes them with him. They go everywhere together. They are inseparable, full of themselves and more. If Martin dies from smoking, he’ll die with a cigarette between his fingers.