Forget lost loves. What about all that glorious smoking which walked hand in hand in hand with her and me? I no longer have a smoking partner, so the head cold from hell has inspired me to pack my bags. To leave the habit behind, again.
Hey, I’m close to a week with no smokes here. It makes me cranky and randy to all kinds of get out apportionment. So this is my short list on a sexy bunch of goodness. I’ve been dialing these up with hells more frequency as of that last sweet tug of nicotine cause I gotta be weak for something.
This Santana groove is haunting me presently.
And this Norah tilt is so very smokable. Which means gooooood.
A girl from Austin with lots of money and more moods, she was. We once talked a coffee shop into daybreak. Bottomless pots of coffee, indoor smoking and a world to fix. We were a bargain Tom Waits might’ve understood.
She was from the Big Town and our after anything smokes were off the hook. And Ella was her favorite color blue.
Alas, a smoke is what I miss most of all. No mysteries to it, just there each and every time the very same way. Miss K.D. knew how to play my torturous advent into quitting it all, again. I just wish she wasn’t so damned good at it.