6am in the morning. Thursday. Another day of wasted life? Possibly. Whatever. I’m tired. Tired of life. I grab the open pack of tobacco on the dinner table. Take a paper and start to roll. Careful now, man! Don’t rip it all apart! I lost the feeling in my fingers over the years. Well, almost. It’s a struggle.

The fresh smell of tobacco… it’s what keeps me going….I light the cigarette, take a deep breath, inhale the familiar smoke. The taste too well known to excite.

My body’s filling with life. I’m awake. For what? Don’t know. Turn on the radio. Recession. Corruption. Terrorism, plane crash, a drunk driver pacing down the M1 on the wrong side; frontal crash, three people dead. … isn’t it always the same? Heard it all before. Seen it all before. No emotions anymore. Only a numb feeling.

Standing here, outside, on this wooden veranda, rotting away under my feet. Or is it me, rotting away? Don’t know. Does it matter? It’s the circle of life. We all have to go at some point. Everything has to go at some point. A constant change, that is what it is. I’m just part of all this. A small, tiny part. Insignificant.

I blow out the last bit of smoke left on my cigarette……