Tonight, I decided unwisely over catching up on my overdue work and decided to re-read my Murakami, SputnikSweetheart, the novel that sealed Murakami’s place in my heart. The one about unrequited love, I thought it befitting considering my circumstances.
Then it hit me, as I read. “She smoked too much.” That makes me crave, for a smoke. For the scent of harsh tobacco. I’m a scent person, mostly loving only florals. But I craved a smoke, the last smoke I had was on the date with depressive lawyer-going-to-be. I wanted to smell like him that night I made him remove his shirt because they smelt of tabacco. Maybe I wanted a question I could ask him and hoped it would spark a conversation. So he could damn it. Speak to me instead of whoever else is keeping him online.
I ran off to 7 eleven, sleeping sock, hoodie and boots. I pondered over getting a kent. He recommended it. But I got a capri slim instead. The brand, I always see my gallery managing touting. She’s 38, attached in a vicious relationship with no future. Yet she’s earning her keep, looking great and holding her high. There’s some part of that I wanted to buy.
I came back with my capris and started smoking. I got through three, I loved the taste. Until, the trouble of smoking in front of a jar with water in it, kinda got to me. I stopped. And realised everything now smells of smoke. I resented it all of a sudden. I brushed my teeth and spray my rose room spray all over, over and over. But it didn’t take away the layer of tobacco that settle onto every fabric and surface in my room. My mouth reeks of it. After chocolates and sweets. What the hell have I done? I have no idea.