Cold Smoke

I wrote this a few months ago. This past summer I chose to be much healthier in my life, and have made a lot of great progress, but I wanted to explore (through this narrative) what might have been if I had gone the other way and stopped caring entirely about my health, mentally or physically. Any comments or criticism, feel free to post!

Fuck, it’s cold.
I hate February. Honestly, shouldn’t it only be cold around Christmas? It’s not even snowing. It’s that uncomfortable cold that no one could possibly enjoy in their right mind. Even the fire from my goddamn lighter looks like it’s shivering from the below-zero temperatures. I inhale smoke from my Parliament and blow it away. Shit’s gonna kill me. And it makes me look like such an asshole. Maybe I am. Fuck it, no one gives a shit anyway.
I walk from my apartment, not really headed anywhere in particular. There are so many gorgeous girls in puffy coats and scarves with red cheeks and red noses. I fall in love with them all. They don’t look at me. I’m a shadow as I pass them, unless I trip on the sidewalk, like I just did. I don’t fall, but it’s enough to make two girls look at each other and giggle a bit. I hate how girls can be such assholes.
I toss my cigarette into the street and light up another one. Shit’s gonna kill me.
Fuck, I’m hungry. I stop in the nearest place, a McDonalds. I hate this place. Since I used to work here, I know how bad it is for me, but I can’t help it. I’m fucking hungry. I get the biggest, greasiest burger they have, with a large fries and coffee. I don’t even like coffee. What am I doing? It’s not like I can get away with eating this. My skin is terrible in the first place and I’m overweight… what am I thinking? I grab my food and get out of there. The fucking coffee burns my mouth. Dammit. I wolf down the burger, and start on the fries. Between the cold, my burned tongue, and the cigarettes, I can’t taste any of it. Fuck.
I toss my McDonalds bag into an overfull trash can on the sidewalk, and it falls out. Fuck it, that’s someone’s job. Cleaning it up, that is.
I stop in front of a convenience store to light up another cigarette. I breathe too deep, and start coughing. Shit’s gonna kill me.
I look at my reflection in the convenience store window. I hate the way I look. Pulling my beanie down to mask the acne breeding ground that is my forehead, and zipping up my dad’s leather jacket halfway down does no good. It just makes my chest cold. I zip it back up. I hate the way I look.
I take a deep drag on my cigarette. A couple maybe two years older than me passes; he has his arm around her, and I can tell just by looking at them they’re in love. They look warm, and they have that glow of lovers… I don’t know how else to explain it. I hate them for it. I exhale, and walk back to my apartment.
Fuck it’s cold.

~AR