In my dream it was the simple habit of being a smoker that opened me doors to a new world.
I was independent, sitting in a violet summer blouse on a staircase. I was in peace with my surroundings, without the urge to talk, discuss or listen. Just to be there with myself, this cigarette and some dream smoke that did not hurt my lungs. A deal with myself that gravity was an allright thing and my weight a given fact with no meaning beyond.
My friend says to become a smoker you have to smoke one entire package and suffer. She once sat on her bed with a package of Marlboro and coughed into the curtains for the first seven cigarettes. When she tried to inhale the smoke of the eighth one she went on the balcony and she became a smoker. 


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