Thank you for not smoking


I sat on the steps in front of my rickety apartment building and watched her walk by. It was a daily ritual that took place in the day’s fading light. I went out for a smoke. She walked her Golden Retriever. A nice dog, but its namesake is tarnished when put in comparison with her eyes. Liquid fuckin’ sun. It was hard for me to understand what I was really looking at, because she doesn’t belong here. In this world, I mean. Life on Planet Earth is reserved for pain and brutal misery. But her?

It was those eyes. They poured out golden joy. It was enough to warm me up on those brisk San Francisco days. Or maybe that was the hot smoke filling my lungs as I took drag after drag. I wish I could take her in like this. Each breath taking me closer to a rattling death, but a journey I didn’t mind so long as she kept smiling like that.

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