Yo! Whitey reckons she can type well enough to post them up here, which is totally not true. But, here it is anyway. The ill-fated thread of Whitey's writing works.
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Cigarettes are sexy.
"It's funny. Like, I've only been with him one month and I already hate the f***er."
She gives the cigarette one last, long suck, drawing out the flavour, then stubs it into the ashtray. The smoke floats slowly out between her lips. She rests her forehead on her palm and giggles.
"Ain't that funny?"
I swing my legs up onto the table and slouch in my chair. The plastic back digs into the base of my skull uncomfortably. I reach for the green bottle in her hand. It's two inches too far for the length of my arm.
"It's f***ing hilarious, Jeanne," I reply sincerely, "and it would be funnier if you'd share the damn wine."
She swings her arm up and I take the bottle from her, covering its mouth with my own; a messed-up kiss that allows the burning alcohol to run down my throat. Jeanne taps the bottom of the cigarette box and another cancer-stick pops out the top. The flame from the lighter dances across her face. Shadows flickering like fireflies at the place where the skin meets the hair. Smoke unfurls slowly from her full lips and up past her lidded eyes. We always used to say Jeanne looked sexiest with a cigarette between her lips.
