There were never so many cigarettes smoked than the day they shut our building down for mold. We walked outside and lit up, said, Fuck mold anyway. We’ll smoke and die quicker than mold could kill us.
After we burned them, it felt like we were leaving, because people get so nervous when they leave and they want to smoke and say things they shouldn’t because the wet paper and tobacco, in that moment, is about as right as you can get, and who doesn’t want to be right.
I like watching people who’ve never smoked smoke, because probably they’ve lied to you and said they did it once and, when people lie, it makes you want to kiss them, because their mouth is so fucking dirty, like the color of tobacco.
I could’ve watched that all day, all the people who joined us and just started smoking but they told us we had to leave. They said, We’ve taken care of you, we’ve got it all under control. I could’ve kissed that smoke so long but we left, we got out of there. We went to other classrooms, where they said the air was fresh and risk-free.