I smoked my first cigarette when I was eight years old. It was a nasty non-premium brand, stolen by my friend Francesco from the local market. We snuck into the neighbor's vineyard to smoke, so there was the added fear of getting caught by the land-owner, a hard skinny whip of a bastard who always showed up silently, a greased scythe held at his side. He'd swing that curve of shiny metal wildly over his head when he chased us. Anyway, I'm almost thirty-two now, and I'm about to smoke my last cigarette. I used this last one as a model for the above picture. The camel looks alright, huh?

Why? Well, it costs me around $70 or $80 a month, and I'm poor. Plus, it's really unhealthy. And everything I own smells of smoke. Non-smoker friends wrinkle their noses when they get in my truck. And I'd be embarrassed to die of lung cancer. And my spiritual father wants me to stop, as well as my mom. And what if I want to kiss a non-smoker? Wish me luck.