Winter was trying to get me to quit. It was a non-option for much of the argument. I wasn’t a nonsmoker. But then she mentioned kids and the smell being on my clothes and how secondhand smoke kills, and do I really want the baby to smell like shit? Ah, fuck it. I walked over to the French doors, picking up my lighter off the table and sparking it up as I put on my shoes and opened the door to go out, but then I heard her sleepy voice from across the room. “Hey,” she said from the bed. “Anything wrong?” I growled silently, tearing the cigarette out of my mouth and crushing it in my fist.
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