A Reason to Smoke

I took a break from my work, and went out for a while. I took a walk around, and found a nice space I could settle in.

Near my space, there was a guy smoking. I believe he was taking a break as well. I observed him as he smoked, staring out into space as his hands automatically guided his cigarette into his mouth. Nobody looked at him — he had blended in superbly well into the life around him, like a camouflaged animal in familiar surroundings.

Now, I was doing what he was doing too, sans the cigarette in hand. But the feeling was weird. It didn’t feel right standing there, staring out into nothingness without a reason — I felt a need to justify my behaviour to curious passer-bys, why I was standing there doing nothing.

Then I found myself lifting up my hand towards my mouth, fingers holding an invisible cigarette. When my fingers reached my lips, I pursed my lips as if inhaling the smoke. I did that a couple more times — suddenly it felt okay to be standing there, doing nothing.

I don’t smoke, never did, probably never will. But if there was ever going to be a reason I did, it would be so I could do nothing, while maintaining the fascade of doing something. It just doesn’t feel right to be doing nothing anymore.

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