A Suspicious Cigarette
I’m not a cigarette, I said to the giant cigarette looking
suspiciously back at me through the mirror in the truck stop
bathroom. The room was filthy, covered in green sludge,
and the toilet had committed suicide. Pieces of brown brain
were spilling out of the ceramic entry wound. The plunger
made some sly remark I couldn’t make out and spontaneously
combusted. It smelled delicious. Ew, the giant cigarette said,
noticing a daddy long leg smoking a very small cigarette
in the corner of the ceiling. I turned my attention to the
suspicious character in the mirror, who’d decided to have
a staring contest with me. Now he was monkeying around,
flailing his arms like an idiot, miming my movements.
Copycat, I said accusingly. The fluorescent light above us
flickered, and he was gone.
You ok? my friend asked, smoking as he started the car.
I inhaled the sweet aroma wafting towards me.
I held my breath; and held, and held.