Intro: Kevan McDerman

I wrote this when Duchess and I got home from a walk. I don't know where it's going... stereotypical beginning, but I get a solid-feeling from the main character. So we'll see. Please offer up your opinions on this.

I tried not to rasp, but it was hard. Eleven solid years of smoking half a pack a day does superfluous wonders to your entire body. But I casually flicked the burning ash from the tip of my cigarette and let my corroded vocal cords sing their song. I was standing outside of 7-11; I had just bought a package of Canadians and was having a relaxed conversation with Roxanne outside. She was a cashier at the store, an acquaintance of mine, but not dear enough to be considered an actual friend. She flirted too much anyway, and had a bad taste for and firm grip on sweet-flavored liquor. It’s not that I didn’t care; it’s just that I don’t believe in trying to ‘evangelize’ people into a ‘better’ life.

How would I know what a better life was, anyway? I’m twenty-nine years old and have a degree in education that I attained but never used. I went through job-placement and almost became a second-grade teacher for a good public school that was a simple ten-minute drive from my house. Instead, I kept my barely-above-minimum-wage job at the Mohawk gas station. Why? It must be that I have a fear of commitment. I’ve heard that song before.

I decided something as I watched Roxanne saunter back into the store when a customer came ambling inside. I wouldn’t try to control the rasp in my voice anymore. I can’t control the fact that I enjoy supplementing people with over-priced gas. I can’t help that I spent over half a million dollars on tuition fees that may never be reciprocated with a well-paid career, well paid within reason… as people who understand the elementary-education system know. Tied to this, I can’t control how much I enjoy the rolled paper between my index and middle finger. The draw of nicotine into my dilapidated lungs, and the slow exhale which propels toxic tendrils into gnarled fingers over my tongue or through my nose. I never tried to stop smoking, despite how much my family and friends had ceaselessly encouraged me. It was because I liked it. I know it’s killing me. But I don’t care.