i used to inhale these to dull away the pain. to consciously do something bad, because the unconscious goodness left me miserable and unfulfilled. after seeing nearly all my best guy friends fall prey to the dangers of nicotine, i vowed never to inhale anything that wasn’t natural or from a bong… but these called to me and embraced me in their rich aromas. i’d sneak a pack to my car and drive to manhattan beach, eager to indulge in the calmness of the ocean breeze and serenity of the earthy djarum scent. i could never smoke more than two or three at a time, unless intoxicated, but these were the only cigarettes i smoked in any case. sometimes they were a pain in the butt to find & id have to hit two or three gas stations before they were nestled in the safety of my purse. a security blanket, rolled up and waiting to be sparked. the first time a friend found me nonchalantly sucking poison in front of our dorms, she knocked it out of my hand and pinned me against the cold, concrete slab i was sitting on. why? she asked. why? because shit’s never what it seems, i responded. none of my friends indulged my habit so it remained a secret. a dark glimmer against all else that glittered.