“Johnny, Johnny, what are you doing?”

“Can’t help it boss,” I chewed another cigarette to bits, spitting the pungent tobacco out. My hands still hadn’t stopped trembling, and I’d only been off it for four days. I was dying, dying I tell you. “I’ve gotta do it, gotta get the rush. I can’t take this cold turkey any longer.”

George’s initial panic turned into something worse, a patronizing sympathy.

“I know it’s tough,” he soothed, touching my arm. I mean, ick, puke, he touched me. “But talk to me, let me know when you get the urge. “Maybe we can walk you through it.”

“You don’t understand, George,” I told him. “It becomes part of your blood, part of the air you breathe. It’s life. Once you’ve started you can’t stop. Your body won’t let you. You gotta keep doing more, and more, until…”

“Well, you’ve got to stop doing it at work,” George snapped.

“Okay, boss.” I sighed.

I watched George walk off, as soon as he was out of sight I switched the monitor on.

And logged back into Ficlets.