We’ve never quite gotten the knack of smoking cigarettes. While friends of ours twirl a zippo across their knuckles like a small blue steel ball spouting flame, then clamp down upon a smoke with the effortless, anti-authoritative sneer of James Dean, the best we can manage is a fag prissily inserted between our pursed lips. When we inhale, we inevitably start coughing, the cigarette goes tumbling out of our mouths and burns its way through our pants. Next thing we know, we’re applying salve to our groins for the next 72 hours.
