iPOD on, walking down the road, ELO and a sunny morning, “mumblin’ and fumblin’, then a voice from above, said Horace...”

No, it didn’t it said...

As I reach for my next cigarette, it falls from the packet onto the pavement.

What did it say?

I reach down for the cancer stick, my third of the day, and...

It said what?

As I stop at the pedestrian crossing, stooped to pick up the drug delivery device, a blur of glass and metallic blue looms.

It said “Car.”

My legs straighten to carry me and the precious nicotine over the crossing, but my brain, silently, says “no.” I am held in stasis, crouched on the line like an Olympic sprinter, held still until the car flashes by, a little boy in the back looking down at me, asking his Daddy what’s that man doing.

I leave the cigarette where it is. It’s true what they say: smoking can lead to serious health problems. I cross the road as the little boy would do, looking both ways.

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