A light slap to the pocket , frantic looks hither and a desperation that would put a hungry child to shame . Ah , there it is , the three and a half inches of craving that she so desperately seeks . A cheap flame producer is summoned from the depths of her jeans and the cylinder is lit at its end , precariously perched on her lips .
The first drag , light , almost coaxing the craving to give her a high . Now , well lit and half an inch later , a deep inhalation , almost to the point of breathlessness. And then , almost magically , the smoke comes out , bellowing fire like the dragon of lore . Weightless , emotionless , thoughtless- all things she would love to be . These two minutes of solitude with her nicotine buddy give her hope of just that .
As the translucent vapors rise and say hello to the sky , she wonders what it would be like to fly away . Fly away , far away from all the madness and pain , the guilt and the tears . A drop of salty liquid makes its way down her chiseled jaw , almost mocking her of the soup she was in . But the nicotine buzz convinces her that it was a dust particle in her eye that is to be blamed for the tear . A desperate cry for togetherness or loneliness , she is too screwed up to figure that out . A few more lonely puffs later , she stubs it out . Three inches of doom they are , she knows this all too well . But at the moment , the least of her concerns .
With a firm touch of her long fingers , she wipes the sadness away . Swept under the rug as if it were to be discarded . Makes a promise that she knows she will eventually break , to stay away from things that caused her to face the deluge of emotional torrents . One final glance at her time strap , and she notices she has overstayed . Quickly hurries down , to pretend to be a part of perfection again . Then , silence . Darkness . A sad , almost sarcastic chuckle . Perfection , it seems .