October 31, 2001

The first day of my eighteenth year, speaking within linear time constraints of course, becomes the next sequential event in my life. I walk to the local gas station to buy a pack of smokes; a pack of Camel cigarettes, unfiltered. I call them Camel Hardcores. I smoke them because I am hardcore. This is my first legal pack of cigarettes. I’ve smoked plenty of cigarettes before this, but this time it’s different. This time it has lost its excitement. I decide to wander around town for a while with a girl I know. It’s getting late. I grow tired of this senseless activity. The harsh smoke is hurting my lungs. They grow black with cancer. The meaning of life becomes transparent and elusive. The open gap where time resides has disappeared. My soul wanders.