1
I sit at the shelter, its roof caked in thick layers of bird shit, with etchings and remnants of graffiti on the bench. I rummage in my bag for my cigarettes. I grab the pack and pull it out. It’s brand new. I carefully open the lid, trying my best not to damage my press-ons as I slide my fingernail under the cardboard flap and pop it off. I gently unwrap the foil, and use my fingernails like chopsticks to pull out the first cigarette. After a while, I succeed, and bring it to my lips. I pull out my lighter.
An old man approaches me, scruffy, with a wide grin and bloody gums.
‘Excuse me, love’ he asks, ‘What’s the time?’
I pull out my phone and shield it from the sun. I cut the side of my hand on the broken screen.
‘It’s 3.43,’ I say.
‘Cheers love’
I light my cigarette and inhale.
2 & 3
We sit on the bench in her back garden. It’s dark, but a nearby street light illuminates us. It’s broken, the paint is stripping away and everytime I move I get splinters. She sits next to me and I hand her a cigarette. I take a deep breath before lighting my own. I leave it for a little bit too long, and the familiar smell of burnt nose hair reminds me to stop. She’s hysterical as she pulls the lighter from my hands.
‘I never want to see that prick again,’ she cries.
‘What a cunt,’ I reply instinctively, as I try to blow smoke into a perfect circle.
‘I’m so happy we aren’t together anymore, I don’t think I could stand another minute with him.’
‘You’re with so much more than that piece of shit.’
She laughs, ‘maybe I should date you instead.’
I feel a warmth in the pit of my stomach. An owl screeches overhead.
4 & 5
It took them two days to get back together. She’s kissing him at the club whilst I finish my cigarette. I could be here for a while.
I stub it out and reach into my pocket. The lid from the pack has disintegrated, so I tear it off and drop it on the floor. I look at the road, as drunk girls get into taxis. An older man comes out of the club. Hair greasy with sweat, face flushed. I busy myself with my lighter. I click it once, twice, three times. I shield it from the wind. It doesn’t ignite. I’m going to have to get a new one.
I sigh and approach the man.
‘I’m so sorry, can I borrow your lighter?’
He looks at me, and his eyes linger on my chest for a lot longer than I would like, but I brush it off. I couldn’t care less.
‘Course, love’
He pulls out a neon orange lighter, covered in cartoons of cannabis leaves wearing sunglasses. I smile and raise my eyebrows as I light my cigarette. He grins at me, exposing his plaque-caked teeth. As soon as I finish I hand him back the lighter. He does that secondary school shit, where he strokes my hand as he takes it back. I turn my back and walk to the other side of the shelter.
I take a few puffs before she comes out and walks over to me. She grabs the cigarette out of my hand, and finishes it.
‘Come on! They’re playing fucking Liam Payne!!’
She drunkenly grabs my hand and guides me inside, I’m glad she remembers that I exist. The older man watches me as I’m dragged away, heartbroken. I couldn’t give less of a shit.
6
I walk to the corner shop to buy a new lighter. Chewing gum rattles in my bag. Rain is neither here nor there. A bell rings as I enter. The old man at the till is friendly, a chubby man with a thick black beard. He looks like a pirate.
‘Can I have a lighter?’ I ask, ‘please.’
‘Can I see some ID?’
I have my tattoos on display but, still, I reach into my bag and grab my passport. I lost my provisional a few months ago. I avoid eye contact and he compares my photo to the one in my passport, taken a few years back. He nods and hands the passport back to me. He turns around and reaches on the shelf behind me. He offers me a choice, as he holds out a lighter in each hand. One pink with a photo of a black cat and the second, a black one with a playboy model in a skimpy red bikini.
‘Do you have any plain ones?’ I ask.
‘No’ he responds, sharply.
I grab the cat lighter and pay. I light the cigarette as soon as I step outside.
7 & 8
We are back on her bench again. She’s debriefing me on what happened last night after I left the club. The more she talks the less she smokes. It’s a waste really.
‘Anyway we came back, and oh my god I was so ready. I had the matching set, waxed and everything.’
‘I know,’ I inhale, ‘I was there when you did it.’ I exhale. I’m always there.
‘Oh yeah. Anyway, got in, went upstairs, took our clothes off and had the most disappointing sex of my life.’
I’m not surprised. I mumble an unenthusiastic, ‘no way.’
‘Anyway he had the smallest-’ She keeps talking but I can’t listen. A breeze appears from nowhere, it makes me cold. My skin feels weird and exposed. I feel claustrophobic. A pressure builds under my skin.
‘Jesus Christ, what the fuck!’ She scrambles off the bench and points at me.
I look at my arm. The cigarette is on my bare skin. I can’t feel anything.
‘Why the fuck did you do that?’
I drop the cigarette and look at her. A fleshy mark oozes, I have nothing to say.
‘I don’t fucking need this right now,’ she says, throwing half a cigarette on the floor.
‘I think you need to go.’
She goes through her backdoor and slams it. I get up and leave through the side gate.
I don’t think we’ll ever speak again.
9
I stand outside the shop, rummaging through my pockets for my lighter. I feel the cold metal of the sparkwheel and yank it out. My hands are bright red and shaking, if it was any colder I’d have frostbite. I try to warm my hands up first, but the sound of my watch ticking reminds me I don’t have enough time. My hands shake, and I get friction burn trying to click the wheel. It pays off, as I raise the lighter towards the cigarette in my mouth. I can’t get ash on my uniform.
The sound of the automatic door opening and closing makes me anxious. I inhale and exhale, with each open and close. The shop isn’t that busy, but it makes me smoke faster. I want to fit at least two in before I have to go back.
The door opens, yet no one comes out. I inhale and peek around the corner, holding my breath. A woman in a black jacket stumbles out. Her jacket was once leather, I think it was anyway, with only a few specs of original material remaining.
In one hand, she holds a receipt, with the shop branding neatly printed on the back. In the other, she holds a reduced chocolate bar. I only put that one out ten minutes ago. It was the last one left. I exhale.
I make eye contact with her as she looks up.
‘It’s amazing, it really is’, she says, waving the chocolate bar in my face. I inhale, and nod.
‘It's like someone is watching over me.’
I realise she isn’t going to stop talking, so I give her an affirming grunt.
She stands next to me, directly breathing in the smoke I exhale. I shuffle away discreetly.
‘I said to myself this morning, you know,’ she continues, ‘I said to myself, I really, really want a reduced chocolate bar.’
I give my best customer service smile. ‘No way!’
She places the bar in her bag, and looks at the receipt. She holds it in front of my face.
‘When stuff like this happens it's amazing!’
‘Yeah, it really is!’
I keep nodding as she speaks so she thinks I’m listening, but I’m not. I’m thinking about what to eat tonight. If I should eat tonight.
‘It’s like someone’s watching over me,’ she says, ‘if you believe in what I believe in…’
I wait for a finished sentence that never comes. Without thinking I respond, ‘Yeah, definitely’.
Her eyes widen.
‘I have to come back and speak to you!’ she says, pointing at me. She turns and waddles down the street. I’m briefly worried she’s serious, that I’ll see her at the same time next week but she’ll probably forget by the time she turns the corner. The smile drops and my cheeks hurt.
I crush my cigarette on the brick wall and watch it fall to the floor. I don’t have time for another one. I have ash on my shirt.
10
I’m at a club. Not the shitty one in town, but one a few miles away, next to the sea. On top of the sea actually, on a pier. I’ve only had a few drinks, but the guy I’m with has had a fair bit more. We sit outside as he rolls. I watch the ocean. I struggle to distinguish the sea from the sky; the reflection of the neon club lights help me. The wind is gentle, it blows my hair across my face, keeping me that little bit warmer.
He taps on my shoulder, and puts the cigarette on my lap. I pick it up as he rolls his own. My heart drops. It’s the worst cigarette I've ever seen in my life. The top is heavy with tobacco forming what looks like a pregnancy bump around the end of the paper. I examine it further and find that the filter is missing. I look around, thinking it had fallen out when he passed it to me, but it is nowhere to be found. The music from inside the club is thunderous, I can feel it beneath my feet
At this point, I light the cigarette, using my hand to shield it from the wind. It lights easily, and I try my best to smoke, but after a few minutes of miming, I give up. If it wasn’t completely unsmokable I would continue. I don’t want to make him feel upset, but at the same time, if I’m going to get through this conversation I need a cigarette. One that I can actually smoke.
I laugh as insincerely as possible, as I turn away from him and chuck the cig between the pier planks. He’s talking to himself now. I reach into my pocket. The box is upside down and the cigarettes roam freely. I clutch one and pull it out. I light it below his eyeline, like a spliff. It takes a while, but I manage and I inhale. He doesn’t notice that the cigarette changes completely, but he does notice my lighter.
He mumbles something along the lines of nice pussy, and laughs to himself. I put it back into my pocket.
He continues to talk, something about how pretty I look. I’m not listening. I just watch the ocean and finish my cigarette.
11
My cigarette is already lit, I don’t know if it was me who did it. I’ve had a bit more to drink now, not enough that I’ll be sick, but enough that my actions no longer make any sense. I lean against the wooden railings. There is a sheltered smoking area inside the club, but it was full, and I don’t have the patience to cram myself between two men talking about which girl they’re going to bring home.
The wind has picked up since I was last out here, it helps me to smoke. I stop for a second and hold it out in front of me. I watch as the burn rings ignite and wear down. I put it in my mouth again, not wanting to waste it. It won’t be like this for much longer.
Something draws me to the edge of the pier. Perhaps the wind changed direction, and blew me over to the railing. Or perhaps I walked myself. I don’t know. I grab the railing with one hand and lean over. The wood feels old and unstable. The pier shakes, although I could be imagining it. The neon lights disappear as the waves grow and become more unpredictable. The music from inside has no chance of being heard.
The ocean is dark, uninviting. For a second I wonder what it would be like to fall in. The wind picks up once again, tugging the cigarette out of my hand and into the water below. A horn honks, barely audible. My taxi is here.
12 & 13
I lean against the wall and pull the cigarettes out of my bag. The lid is hanging on by a thread. I take it off and chuck it on the ground. The church bells ring. My uncles glare at me as they round the corner, but they’re too busy talking amongst themselves to say anything.
My aunt comes over, silent. She reaches for her pockets, then realising that she doesn't have any on her dress.
‘Shit, can I nick one?’
I nod and open the pack in my hands. I tilt the packet to the side, launching the remaining cigarettes with it. I pick out the one on top of the pile and hand it to her.
She puts it in her mouth, and grabs the lighter from inside the pack.
‘So,’ she says as she inhales, ‘found yourself a husband yet?’
I inhale and cough a little on the smoke, ‘nope.’
‘Thats a shame, so no nieces and nephews?’
‘None that I know about.’
‘Right,’ she inhales again, ‘the reverend’s pretty fit, you should get on it.’
We both laugh. She’s only ten years older than me. We’re both just kids. There's silence for a while.
‘When did you last see him?’ I ask her, flicking my leftover ash onto the grass.
‘About a year before he died,’ she says. ‘I think the last time you saw him was when you were, like, five.’
‘I’ve seen the photos, but I don’t remember him,’ I respond, ‘I feel bad for his kid.’
‘Yeah, I mean he was my cousin and all, but imagine losing a dad’ she throws her cigarette on the floor. ‘I’ll see you inside.’
She rounds the corner. Her cigarette still burns on the damp floor. That could be me in there, and it will be one day. I place my cigarette into a gargoyle's mouth, and head back inside.
14
I sit at a round table in the corner of the local pub. It’s bonfire night, so the bar is overcrowded and the room smells like pensioners and Lynx Africa. Kids walk along the street with flashing headbands, and a crowd gathers outside. I watch on from the warmth.
A faint glow illuminates the road, which was repainted not too long ago. The yellow markings are saturated and harsh. It hurts my eyes. I’m getting a migraine. I head outside.
From my jeans I grab my cigarettes. The sides of the pack are wearing away, leaving a white outline on the corners, with small fibres sticking out. I quickly open it and grab a cigarette. I struggle to light it, despite there being fluid in the lighter and almost no wind. A young guy notices, and holds his hand around the lighter. Miraculously, it works. He smiles and leaves. Not a single word spoken. I inhale.
The procession begins. People all dressed up and carrying torches, three foot tall sticks wrapped in cloth and set alight. They carry effigies of dragons, pirates, people. I can’t really focus on them too much, as I’m more concerned about shielding my cigarette from passing children. It doesn’t matter, they’re going to be breathing in smoke the whole night. I still do it though, it’s a habit.
As the procession continues, some members place their torches in the road, leaving those behind them to weave in and out of the fire. They don’t seem bothered though, as they head down to the field for the main event.
As it comes to a close, some of the organisers haul big metal carts, the contents of which were on fire of course, and pick up the discarded torches. They throw them in and the flame rises. I begin to sweat.
I throw my cigarette into the cart and put on my gloves. I follow the crowd.
15
I approach the field. It’s dark, except for the faint glow of the torches in the distance, as the crowd gathers behind a metal fence. On the other side of the fence, is a bonfire made up of old wooden palettes with cloth draped over the top. The mayor gives a drawn out speech, then the torches and effigies are thrown onto the makeshift pyre.
I reach into my coat pocket for my cigarettes. I blindly open the box, but the gloves on my hands make it impossible for me to retrieve one. So I loosen the packet and wrap my lips around the highest cigarette. I realise I have to take my gloves off anyway to light the fucking thing.
There’s silence for a moment. Then the smoke rises, and excitement lingers in the crowd. As the murmuring begins a young couple next to me argue. They look the same age as me, but the expression on the girl's face makes her look older. He’s messaging another girl, from what I can hear. But I love you, not her! What a liar.
The bonfire is fully lit now, signalled by a loud cheer amongst the crowd, its flames reaching into the sky, trying to grab the moon like a condom after a night out. Then the fireworks begin.
I inhale, and exhale and inhale again. The fireworks are loud, and in quick succession. They last for about ten minutes. I record the first half, taking breaks between looking at the screen and taking a drag. About a minute in I realise that nothing spectacular is happening, I slip my phone into my back pocket, and finish my cigarette.
16
I sit on the beach. The waves are gentle but the sound echoes. I hold my hand over the lighter, only briefly, just to warm me up, but the wind keeps destroying the flame. I light the cigarette, and take a drag. I watch a child playfully drag her mother towards the water.
17 & 18 & 19
I’m at the club. Again. The waves are calmer this time, the storm is long gone. I sit on the bench with a woman. Her friend is hooking up with a guy in the disabled toilets, so naturally she wants a cigarette. I oblige.
I put a cigarette between my lips, and offer the pack to her. She plucks one with two neatly manicured fingers. I go to light my cigarette, but she stops me, taking the lighter out of my hand. She lights her cigarette, delicately turning her head.
‘Come here,’ she mumbles, the cigarette placed loosely between her lips. I move closer, and she places her hands under my chin. She guides my cigarette to hers, until they touch tips. I breathe in. It lights. She lets go.
‘Thank you,’ she says, exhaling smoke into my face.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I reply. She’s beautiful.
‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I can’t think- oh shit! I liked you on Hinge and you didn’t respond to me!’
‘Fuck,’ I whisper. What an idiot. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t used Hinge in a while.’
She inhales, ‘It was the photo of you and that girl, the one on the bench! You looked high as fuck.’ I was.
I hang off of every word she says. Please, for God’s sake, keep speaking.
She places a hand on my thigh, and weaves her fingers between my fishnets. There’s a feeling in my stomach, like I’m going to throw up. I take a toke and it goes away.
‘You’re beautiful.’
She looks at me. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I could cry. I will cry.
She pulls me towards the barrier, and together we look over at the water. She places her hand over mine, holding it tightly. I hear a chime, and she gets her phone out of her pocket.
‘My taxis here in five,’ she says, putting her phone back into her pocket. I pull out two cigarettes. I tuck the first one under my upper lip, and offer her the second.
‘We can just share your one,’ she says, ‘you don’t have to waste another on me!’
‘It’s not a waste,’ I whisper.
We lean against the railing and share one more cigarette.
When we finish, I place the lipstick-stained butt into the ashtray, and we both get in the taxi.
20
I sit at the shelter, its roof caked in thick layers of bird shit, with etchings and remnants of graffiti on the bench. There are some new editions; a sharpie drawing of a dick. Original. I rummage in my bag for my cigarettes. I grab the pack and pull it out. It’s in tatters, barely held together, with each side basically ripped apart.. I would open the lid, however, it isn’t there anymore. I use my chipped fingernails like chopsticks to pull out the last cigarette. After a while, I succeed, and bring it to my lips. I pull out my lighter.
The old man approaches me, scruffy, with a wide grin and bloody gums.
‘Excuse me, love’ he asks, ‘What’s the time?’
I pull out my phone and shield it from the sun. I cut the side of my hand on the broken screen, once again. I get blood on my cigarette..
‘It’s 3.44,’ I say.
‘Cheers love’
I flash him a gentle smile.
I light my final cigarette and inhale.