I stood in a fast food restaurant parking lot staring at the cigarette in my left hand.

I could hear my partner, Todd, finishing up his meal of about a dozen soft tacos in the cab of the ambulance.

The night air was cool compared to the warmth of the day.

Secadas buzzed in the trees.

The faint sound of voices came from the fast food drive-through

as food was exchanged for money.

An occasional car passed on the road.

I held up a Zippo lighter in my right hand, the lid still closed. The lighter had a

shell that made it look like the Necronomicon from the Evil Dead movies. After struggling to quit smoking for over a year, I had

stumbled across the lighter on ETSI and bought it right away. Now, every time I opened the lighter, it was like opening the Necronomicon.

I was unleashing evil into the world.

Or, more specifically, I was releasing evil into my lungs with every puff of a cancer stick.

Still, the draw was strong.

I wanted to insert the filter between my lips, release the evil from the necronomicon, and breathe that evil in, filling my lungs with it.

I wanted to, but I wouldn't let myself not this time not anymore I don't know why you

just don't throw them away Todd said crumpling up his trash and burping.

You wouldn't be tempted if you just threw the cigarettes away.

Why don't you just bring your own lunch like I do?

I asked, still staring at the cigarette.

You wouldn't be tempted to eat all that junk if you brought your own lunch.

I like this junk, Todd said defensively.

It tastes good.

...