Author's note: Apologies for my extremely long hiatus. I don't know when I'll next be updating, though I expect that I'll churn a few more pieces out in the near future.
Habit; 24
"You know," I say one afternoon, "if it's a bad habit, you might well have it for life."
Sprawled on my bed under a thin sheet, he continues to smoke in sullen silence. The ceiling fan rattles overhead, and I reach across him; the cigarettes are on the bureau. I take one and flick his lighter, calling a small butane flame into existence.
The air grows heavy, fume-laden. Summer sunlight, trickling in from a gap in the curtains, cuts a pale clean swath through our haze. I tap ash into a sleek glass tray.
We smoke, choking on our silence.
