It's near 90 in here now. Soon, after dark, we'll open the doors and windows like we used to do when we lived up north. It will cool down some, and I'll go outside.
There are cigarettes in the garage.
I'll sit on the green high-back chair in the driveway and I'll think about having a smoke, like I'm thinking about right now.
I don't like the heat. Especially when I'm already hot.
My lungs are burning with bronchitis. I really want to smoke. I want to remember what it tastes like. I want to feel the roughness of the smoke against my throat. I want to cough up all this crap inside me.
I'll think about it. But I won't do it. I won't do it.