I smoked my last cigarette tonight, though I wasn't with myself while smoking it. I was projecting myself into the living room of the people who live in the house that's behind mine through a wall of naked trees. Their lights are always on at night. I tried, at times, to roll the smoke on my tongue so that I might remember it someday when I would no longer be able to have it, because I'm making promises. Promises to, you know, be kind to myself, to not poison myself or stretch myself too thi...