2005, Keret
I finally quit smoking, and for several months after that I was glad. I hid my cravings. I told everyone who was carrying this heavy burden, “You see, I managed to do it, so can you.” Yet on my tongue, in my head, my insides, in my stomach and on my salivary glands was one word: smoke. It is sweet and pleasant. It is there forever. Smoke is memory. Smoke is taste. The pain of recalling merry dancing and hopeless victories.
When you find yourself unconsciously rolling a tight cigarette, when small particles of tobacco sprinkle out of it despite all your effort of rolling and pressing, then it is placed on your tongue, you realize that you gave in again. Yet again.
With relief and a cheery despair you utter the words “The White Sea.”
I love these first minutes that you wait a
