You exhale and let the nic fit slither down your spine. Your hands tremble—not that you're paying them much mind when there's a fresh pack of Marlboros on the desk in front of you. It's been how long, now? But looking at the little tab in that clear plastic wrapper, it's like the first day all over again.

You can already feel the soft weight of it between your middle and forefingers, drooping a little from the density of the tobacco. Hear the click and hiss of your lighter and the crackle of embers. Feel the warm sweet-bitter smoke settle in your lungs as you inhale and escape from your lips again when you breathe out.

And you taste the filter: neutral at first and steadily more like sour earth. The toxins seep through, settling in the porous tissue of your lungs and spreading outward. You feel them delicately chipping away at your health and your lifespan long after the cigarette burns down to the filter and you discard it in the cloudy glass ashtray on the windowsill.

And, one-handed, you sweep the unopened pack into the desk drawer.

Until next time, when you might not be so strong.