The cigarette smoke and smooth jazz filled the cafe with the kind of atmosphere that could make even the heaviest crack addict mellow out. It’s a good thing this place was open twenty-four hours a day because otherwise I’d be on the streets in the cold dying for a warm bed let alone a small blanket. The coffee I’ve had refilled four or five times begins to bring back my vitality and I light up my second to last smoke.

Being a heavy nicotine addict is an addiction you’d really want to try to break before it grips you in its vice and squeezes. It’s one of the reasons I don’t have five bucks for a burger. God, how I’d love a burger. My mouth is watering like the Niagara Falls and I decide to hit the streets. The coffee will keep me going for the rest of the night, as will my wandering mind.

To be continued…