Smoke

It had been a long night. The little boom has a cough which, in the way of babies, he expressed angrily throughout the night by not sleeping. Instead it seemed to be preferable to shout at me and the good lady in turn.

Sleep was as sparse as the hairs on a Spartan's chest and so it was that I found myself staggering into work wondering how I was going to get through the day when I barely knew who I was and with my eyes hanging out puffily like dugs baws.
_{A quaint Scottish'ism for having big red sleep deprived eyes.}

Somehow I managed to order myself a coffee from the little cafe in the street where I work. Flopping out of the cafe door like a toad out of an old boot, I clutched at my coffee desperately and lurched onward.

You can do this BoomDawgy.

I told myself. Only a few more steps and I will be in and at my desk.

In my sleep-deprived fog I noticed I had stopped outside a little shop.

Fags.

I thought.

Don't worry, I hadn't suddenly decided to become a homophobe. In Scotland, cigarettes are commonly known as fags. Something which can cause a little confusion when you visit the States and tell a local that you are dying for a fag.

I used to smoke. I had given up lots of times but when the little boom was born I stopped again, this time for good. Indeed, I had stayed stopped for over a year now.

The sleep deprivation was making me weak however and despite no longer ever thinking about them, some reptilian part of my brain was at the controls.

Fags.

It demanded.

Smoke fags.

It commanded.

But I don't smoke anymore?!

I muttered feebly to myself.

It was not to be however, as if in a dream I saw myself go in and buy a twenty deck and a lighter.

Outside the shop, I lit one and inhaled.

Bleergh. It was harsh. Hot and harsh and stinky. I felt a little dizzy. But the reptile in my head was happy.

Smoke all the fags!

It commanded.

I shook my head at my own weakness and walked over to the smokers corner outside my work. There was only one other guy there. An annoying looking bastard.

I continued to puff on my cigarette, all the while wondering what I was doing.

The other smoker sidled up. He waggled his own cigarette around at the surroundings as if it were a penis and he were trying to put out a fire with it.

Once there were many of us.

He intoned in a deep voice.

Some of the sleep was starting to clear from my head and I gave him a stern look as if he were a small dog trying to mount my leg.

Aye.

I said tersely. I had forgotten about the camaraderie of the smokers. I looked in the other direction, hoping he would fuck off.

He didn't.

This...

He gestured around at the grubby little street corner again with his penis-fag.

This is all that remains.

He said gravely.

Aye.

I said.

I could feel my gander rising and not the sexy sexy one.

The other smoker seemed to be gaining in confidence. He gestured to some passers-by.

We were here before these people...

Fuck sake, what are you, fucking Gandalf or something?!

I snapped.

Eh? Am only making conversation mate?

Fuckin hell.

I walked over to a bin and pulled my cigarettes out and scrunched them up before throwing them in and stomped angrily into work.

Dammit, maybe smoking isn't the answer.