Last stick of ciggie

Ciggie, heh, I've used the bastardised form for cigarette. Nice, life should be convenient.

It's just 6 mnutes past 3 am (AEST), and the last stub lies miserably together with its two cousins in a lid that I conveniently use as a makeshift ashtray. Like an awkward threesome with no voyeurs.

It's a cool dusk, wet from the smattering of rain, falling where it is not needed the most. That, my friend, is not convenient. Firstly, it drives the mosquitoes into my room, through the balcony door left ajar. Thus the motivation to fill the room with ciggie smoke to literally smoke out the mosquitoes. Heh, a failed experiment of course, cigarette smoke are never meant to substitute for mozzie coils.

Secondly, it makes you feel just a tad more miserable than you already are, especially if you are still staying up.

Thirdly, it just mocks at you, for not having another warm body by your side when you lay down beneath the cover. Of course this betrays one of my desires, need, want, dreams. For now, I make do with a faux version of the vulpes vulpes.

But, there is just something magical about the sounds of rain falling amongst the veil of the eventide.