psyche of addiction

It almost felt like an internal bite of a soldier bee on defense, instant, a few inches below the curve of my left chest aligned with my nipple. I press my right index finger on the miniature isolated pang with no relief. Then I take a wolfing puff and fling the box as far as I could throw. The box goes beyond the backyard fence, through the oak tree leaves, into the dark, stirring the dead leaves and awakening the squirrels and the birds.

That was a good dinner…chicken biriyani, chicken curry, friend cauliflower and beans, dal (lentil soup) and a wicked pickle. I can do this, come on, you can do it, will power baby, that is the difference between you and the rest. I can stop whenever I want to. Im a man, I don’t need help from anyone or anything. This is it man, my last one and I am done.

I sit on the milk crate on the wooden patio overlooking the sparkling green fuzz of grass I recently planted.

I read…no I saw on youtube that the best time to sow grass seeds is during April, the rainy month. I thought, what the fuck, I know I am couple of months late, whatever, this bag full of grains cost me like seven dollars, so if it doesn’t grow whatever…as least I tried…and “the greatest risk a man a take is not take a risk.”

I inhale my puffs more deeply into my lungs to enjoy the last one for the rest of my life. I take a sip of half empty Heineken. I’ll call it half empty because it was full to begin with. We are not really questioning the dasein of the drink but our own dasein. We meme-infected apes. Society’s will to classify things into mainstream, the norm, intelligence…I don’t know what the fuck I am talking about.

I see the fire scorching and crackling through the dry branches. It’s cool and everyone will appreciate the warmth of the fire. I think I should go get some more wood. Oh, fuck it, it’s fucking dark out there and I need a another Heineken.

I puff the last one and carefully throw the butt into the empty Heineken bottle, pfzzzzz, smoke rises up to the middle of the bottle and then fizzes out. It’s reverse engineering baby. When one drinks the beer, it fizzes in our mouth and the shoots straight down to you gut, adding depth. Haha belly. I know I once told mom or dad that I’ll never let myself be obese. I am not obese, I just have a little beer belly. If one week of cardio won’t do the job I don’t know what will.

I pull up my sweater and look at my stomach, holding my breath and sucking it in to see any hint of a six pack. Then I let it go, Yeah, my six pack is definitely got to be in the refrigerator. Talking about refrigerator I need a beer and I am going to go upstairs and get a few beer.

I slide out the basement door and I see someone on the mirror coming down the steps.

I stand outside to see who it is and what it wants. As the figure turns at the end of the steps and starts walking on the hallway straight towards me, a girl I met today, “Hey do you have a cigarette?”