Crossroad Cigarettes

One of my favorite things to do growing up, I was around 16/17 years old.
Late at night, sometime after 11 PM at the earliest, I would go out and have one last cigarette and think about my future.
I’d stand in the middle of the intersection, lining myself up with the faded yellow lines dividing the lanes. I would take long drags and spin slow circles, staring as far as I could down the road. Sometimes a car would come and I would have to leg it off the street, loitering on the corner and waiting for them to pass. I usually jumped the fence and hid behind a bush, waiting for them to pass so I could get back to my midnight musings. Alone in the dark, I’d think what life contained.
Where would the roads lead me? Where would they go? I could stare in the dark, imagining, but I’d never really know.

A few specific nights stand out, not for the thoughts they contained, but the scene that was set.
My favorite of all were the rarest wind to blow, a sleepy town nestled under fluffy flakes of snow.
It felt like the entire world was stopped, holding its breath. Even nature didn’t want to interrupt the soft stillness that draped reality.
Frosted cheeks and a Marlboro Red, the snow dancing in lit cones under the aged street lamps.
I even thought quietly during these sort of nights, I wanted to drink it in as vividly as I could.