The Last of The Smokers

'All my ex-lovers were lovely people: if I can believe that I can give up smoking,' she said. 'Yeah, right,' I said, wheezing and laughing. It was past midnight, Saturday night, well, Sunday morning. We were having one of those wild smoking nights. Debbie Murray was practically the only pal left in the whole wide world that still smoked and the one person who could still make me cry with laughter. She pulled two cigarettes out of the pack, tapped them both gently, affectionately on the pack—the way a mother pats a baby's bottom—lit them both at once and handed me one. I took it, smiling. It was kind of a romantic friendship.