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Smoking Night
Last night, I woke at 12:30, suddenly aware that further sleep would be impossible. I went out on the roof to smoke a kretek, which is the Indonesian name for clove cigarettes. They are a particularly strong variety, and within several minutes the nicotine had made me quite dizzy. It was a cool, dark night, spoiled only by the yellow of the streetlight that illuminated the back alley. I lay back on the rough shingles of the roof and tried to look at the stars, but my eyesight is bad, so all I could see were indistinct white blurs scattered across the sky. Eventually the brief euphoria of the nicotine high turned into a sick queasiness that I found dull and frustrating, so I crawled back through the window into our seedy little apartment. I had a vague intent to write, but suddenly I felt unbearably hot, so I stripped out of my clothing and simply sat on my bed until the nausea overwhelmed me. Lying on my side, curled into a ball, I was struck by the curves and shadows of the yellow silk pillowcase next to me. It was more vibrant than usual, and the visual and tactile sensations of the moment completely incapacitated me. I did not get any writing done.
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