On a cold's winter night at two A.M., I'm in my bed in a dark, dank room feeling the chills and the shakes – God I hate this feeling. Gotta go, gotta go...gotta get my smokes! Two packs a day and counting – for the last five years of my life. It all started as a joke in middle school, a childish challenge: "C'mon Homie, take a drag, be a man and feel the breeze!"
             Not wanting to be called a buffoon, I indulged in one of the beginnings of the rest of my life. First I hid it from Mom and Dad and ended up paying my little sister "bribes" to keep her mouth shot. Then I started buying one stick here and one stick there from the convenience store nearby owned by a Korean who sells it by the stick. Man, that's illegal but "Hey", the Korean said "it's biznez!"
             When I got to college and living in residence, "Wow, freedom!" I run towards the bushes on the campus grounds and puff and puff my life away. In to beer bashes and drinking sessions, I learned I craved more and felt better smoking while having my brewskis. Exams, tests and late night studies helped me relaxed with a stick or two, or three, or four! It's not allowed in residence but having a good electric fan and opening the windows plus a bit of Glade's Odor Eaters helped erased "the evidence." Boy, was I glad I chose single residency other wise I had to contend with a possible non-smoker for a roommate!
             My journey towards smoking continued as I pursued my studies and I finally am a full-pledged "chain smoker" with the smoker's cough, bad breath and clothes that smelled of burnt oak and coal. My parents eventually found out and no amount of threat, pleas, etc., etc., etc. could make me stop. It's now an addiction, a need, a want – a way of life. When I wake up in the morning with my coffee – black no sugar please – I start the day with a st...