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I use to jog,

Updated on September 18, 2014

But I couldn't keep my cigarette lit & the ice cubes kept falling out of my cocktail glass

© By Drew A. Blanc - JKP

I was on a slow scoot, but steady by design mid-afternoon drunk. The long dark haired girl had a smile as wide as Texas. In my mind’s eye, I imagined it took two full days to travel from one side to the other. Just one protracted kiss along those full luscious lips - Perhaps without interruption.

She turned to me and abruptly asked, “why do you smoke?”

That's an invidious question I thought. Or maybe not. Forcing an agitated yawn then twisting that into a facial expression displaying my best absurd contemplative look, I pondered her question. Could it be just an open ended afternoon conversational introduction, excavating for further banter? Or maybe, just possibly, her objective was to point me in the direction of personal reflection?

Whatever reason or justification I manufacture on this moment’s notice will surely not delve into the real and actual truth. Certainly my personal and thorough rehearsed part on this perceived modern day taboo hasn't given me any definitive insight as to precisely why. Nor a complete comprehensive understanding of why not.

Will my answer gain me higher ground with this ravishing and stunning beauty? Probably not, my transgressions are too numerous I thought. One of which incorporates fire when ignited upon a rolled up paper sleeve inhabited by dried up leaves.

“I don't really know,” captivated by her deep chromatic green sometimes blue dilated eyes. “I guess I haven't really given much thought as to why,”

Shrugging a bit, leaning on the railing nonchalantly I stated, “I started smoking when I was five years old.” She raised her lovely half-breed Latina eyebrows as to say, “that’s not funny.” There is nothing like a nonverbal communicated response to further emphasize your adolescent absurdity.

“Katarina my sweet, it’s only been ten years or so, I continued. It was a gradual process. Started with the occasional puff when out and about with friends and eventually rounded off to less than a pack a day. And that was over a course of a decade, I decreed!”

Tapping my shot glass once then twice on the 73 year old scratched and pock marked wooden bar surface, “tequila has also contributed to my ambivalence to all things disciplined.” Thusly and casually emphasizing my inebriated point.

With a calm physical demeanor and efficiency, she poured another cactus libation for me and the first one of the day for herself. She leaned over for some intimate eye contact, displaying her exquisite green’s to my full of shit brown’s. “Don Case, you must consider quitting,” spoken in her personally reserved for only me quick cadence. She always addressed me by both my Christian and surname in sequential order.

I have many times thought of ceasing my so called, “obligatory” added expenditure. Especially with what little funds I had accessible. However, that would mean no more coffee, tequila and a definite beginning to the end of my intensely ad-libbed, self-proclaimed, bohemian lifestyle.

Too much information to sift through, digest and as always ultimately discard. For I know it’s truly an added bane not really needed at this time in my precarious current caricature of an industrious existence. Why can’t this girl just run away with me to the ocean? I know the perfect place. The only element missing at this dreamland utopia would be her in my arms.

She smiled at me and I responded, “might as well just run and scream.”
“Why do you say that,” she inquired? From time to time I would catch her sneaking glimpses at me. There was definitely something between us. Usually unspoken, somewhat telepathic and always casual. I knew in the first five seconds, within meeting her that this endearing creature in-bodied a true uniqueness with her uncommon radiant countenance only reserved for those who are content and soulful.

I knocked back, at least for now, in one fluid thoughtless familiar executed motion, a double of the last modern day promoted legal drug. “The sauce, as my Dad would say, leads to no good.” I've been there and have proved him right. His statement is without a doubt a tried and true affirmation. Pointing to my current annulment of life to be lived. Noncompliance consuming my existence.

I immediately decided to exit the premises, glancing at her for the last time shouting, “I'm a boy, might as well shoot me!” She laughed and blew me a kiss. “More on that later Katarina my sweet.” Wishing I could actually whisk her away to a more everlasting cherubic life.


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