Dear God could I be that lucky to live so long for the cigarettes to kill me. Every time I go to work one small mistake and I'm dead or worse. Let me be so lucky as to die a painful death from tobacco years form now rather then die a painful death on the street tomorrow. When I hang up my cleats, then I might stop but I'd hate to think of myself as a quitter. Until then please stay out of my body bag, just get off my ass.
Feel the pavement when you bounce from it, hear the engine of a car roaring behind you, answer the static coming from your two-way, embrace the corner of the box that craves your spine while you´re carrying it in your bag, taste the cold and yet sweet taste of beer when it sparkles in your mouth.