Nicotine Greetings

There’s a man that lights up across the street. He likes to look up and watch the smoke sail away, as if he’s greeting the blue angels of the Los Angeles sky. Or is he greeting me? His expression seems apologetic, although it’s difficult to make it out from up here. It’s as if he’s sorry for the cloud of smoke dispelling from his lungs and rising to the atmosphere.

I watch him as he continues his breaths. Because that’s all smoking is: breathing. When you think of it more like that, it makes it all the more poetic. Smoking demands your breath until it ultimately takes it away. I contemplate the many things that are slowly taking my breath away - the anxious and sad thoughts that frequently cloud my consciousness and energy, the foods I consume… time. I try to greet this man as often as possible, even though he may not notice me from up here. There’s something comforting gaining a friend while you lose time, together.