I had the smoking dream again the other night. You ex-smokers know the one I mean: The dream in which you find yourself puffing again, so realistic that you wake up believing you’ve actually gone back on cigarettes.
Of all the things I’ve given up — booze, junk food, playing the ocarina — smoking is the only one that continues to haunt me like this. It just goes to show what powerful drugs are to be found in your average Camel. Cigarette, I mean. Not the sand moose.
That was my brand, Camels. And for the longest time, not the filtered ones, no siree. I smoked the little straight ones. I was nothing if not dedicated. I guess I thought it made me look manly and tough to smoke those little cancer bombs when, if anything, it makes me look even stupider than I already look, which is considerable.