A double pump at the end, where the tar has concentrated toward the filter, to tide him over for now. He pulls hard, sucking every milogram of tar and nicotine deep down. Immediately another drag, followed by another. The first drag sends his eyes rolling backwards as the nicotine rushes through his body, tar depositing in his black lungs, feeding them what they demand. He excuses himself, makes sure the coast is clear, and l, hands shaking with anticipation, pulls one of those cylinders of joy from its red carton and introduces the fire. There’s only one thing that can set the situation right. His chest tightens and he can hear his heart pounding behind his ears. He’s becoming snippy with those around him. Regardless, it’s clear that he’s having to placate the anti’s in his life as his nicotine levels drop to dangerously low levels. Anyone who’s a real smoker knows what’s going on here.
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