It's pitch black out here as we stand on the porch at the back of my house.  The flare of light from his cigarette burns away a bit of the darkness, and I am compelled to ask him, "Why do you smoke so much?  Aren't you worried that you're killing yourself?".  Laughing, he tells me that he smokes because he doesn't want anyone else to take credit for his death.

hellfire sermon —
catching the breeze
from a paper fan