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"They Always Remembered Their Smokes" by Edward Jackson

I hate his fucking smoking. So what if I used to think it was cute? It was never about him. I thought it was cute because it reminded me of the boys I met at fraternity parties. I still remember the taste of cheap beer and cigarettes on their lips when I kissed them. Their eyes said they were confused and maybe a little frightened, but, with our bodies pressed together, it was hard for me to miss other signals that made me feel it was safe to proceed. I still chuckle thinking about them trying to sneak out the next morning. They would forget a sock, their underwear, a t-shirt ... but they always remembered their smokes.