A writing excerpt from my Composition class:
The cool fall air bit fiercely against my exposed face and arms. I hurried down the weed riddled hill, stumbling occasionally in an errant rabbit hole, trying to keep up with my new found friends. The school bell rang in the distance indicating we had only fifteen minutes to take care of our mischievous activities. We huddled in the dugout at Blanch Lake Field and the cigarettes were passed out to the red faced thirteen year olds, the bad kids.
I lit my cigarette’s now without a cough or twinge of disgust on my face. It had become second nature in the few short months since I started hanging out with Ben and Reuben. Reuben looked at me with a sly smile across his lips, “So Billy, do you want to really smoke?”
I returned his slick gaze with one of confusion and discomfort. I lifted the Newport 100 in my hand and took a long drag, filling my lungs with mentholated smoke. I spoke during my exhale, it’s what all the coolest actors were doing, “I’m already smoking aren’t I?”
The two broke into laughter and Ben gave me friendly tough guy punch to the shoulder. “No. No. No. He means really smooooooooke.” He dragged out the vowel sound, attempting to add to his already heavy mystique. Reuben produced from his pocket a small foreign glass device, which I later learned is referred to as a steam roller. I watched him place the glass piece to his lips and light the contents with his trusty metallic zippo. He passed it to Ben and proceeded to take his hit, ending in a raucous coughing fit.
Then it was my turn. The glass was already warm from the other two previous lightings. I eyed the charred remains in the bowl piece with mild curiosity. Not wanting to lose my new friends, I followed suit and took my hit. The piney smoke filled my lungs to their limit and I exploded in a cloud of smoke and phlegm.
The cool fall air bit fiercely against my exposed face and arms. I hurried down the weed riddled hill, stumbling occasionally in an errant rabbit hole, trying to keep up with my new found friends. The school bell rang in the distance indicating we had only fifteen minutes to take care of our mischievous activities. We huddled in the dugout at Blanch Lake Field and the cigarettes were passed out to the red faced thirteen year olds, the bad kids.
I lit my cigarette’s now without a cough or twinge of disgust on my face. It had become second nature in the few short months since I started hanging out with Ben and Reuben. Reuben looked at me with a sly smile across his lips, “So Billy, do you want to really smoke?”
I returned his slick gaze with one of confusion and discomfort. I lifted the Newport 100 in my hand and took a long drag, filling my lungs with mentholated smoke. I spoke during my exhale, it’s what all the coolest actors were doing, “I’m already smoking aren’t I?”
The two broke into laughter and Ben gave me friendly tough guy punch to the shoulder. “No. No. No. He means really smooooooooke.” He dragged out the vowel sound, attempting to add to his already heavy mystique. Reuben produced from his pocket a small foreign glass device, which I later learned is referred to as a steam roller. I watched him place the glass piece to his lips and light the contents with his trusty metallic zippo. He passed it to Ben and proceeded to take his hit, ending in a raucous coughing fit.
Then it was my turn. The glass was already warm from the other two previous lightings. I eyed the charred remains in the bowl piece with mild curiosity. Not wanting to lose my new friends, I followed suit and took my hit. The piney smoke filled my lungs to their limit and I exploded in a cloud of smoke and phlegm.
