There was half a joint in the ashtray when I woke up Monday morning. There it was, just there by the bed, wanting to be smoked. Oh fuck it, I thought, if I have to go back to the salt mines... today... and I smoked it. Just like that. Done. Not even a hint of hesitation, on my part.
Yesterday morning, I rolled one and felt like I was sneaking it, naughtily, sitting on the floor next to my bed, as though I'd be harder to notice.
This morning, I rolled one, as bold as brass and sat on my balcony and smoked it, luxuriously, blowing smoke out over the hand rail for anybody to see.
I don't know why, I never have in the past. The couple of times I thought about it at work, I felt instantly paranoid. But mostly, after I've left the house and breathed in some fresh air and forgot all about it. I'm surprised at myself.
Who the hell cares, that's what I decided.
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