The Last Vestige of the Last Vice (Goodbye, Cigarettes)
<p><strong><em>I </em></strong>got real sick last week. So sick, in fact, that I quit smoking. Like seriously, I have been smoking on and off for over 30 years. I was really sick. My eyes were like finely chiseled balls of sandpaper rolling on sandpaper. My head felt about the width and breadth of a small continent, all dopey and stuffed with cotton. My nose was so stopped up that my face hurt, right down to my teeth. Mouth breathing at night didn’t help, drying out my already sore throat until it was parched as a snake’s discarded skin, sending me into uncontrollable fits of coughing. And let’s not mention the lethargy, ugh!</p>
<p>Running out of cigarettes is something that would typically strike panic into the heart of any smoker. Simply pulling into the parking lot with no intention of leaving for the night would have me running a mental inventory of my cigarettes, even if I knew I had plenty.</p>
<p><a href="https://medium.com/@erin.m.winfrey/the-last-vestige-of-the-last-vice-goodbye-cigarettes-00fd31dfaa5b"><strong>Read More</strong></a></p>