If you smoke cigarettes you’ll end up homeless. Well, not actually homeless. Let me explain.
Your mom doesn’t want me to smoke because it’s bad for me. She’s right, of course. Still, occasionally I smoke, and then have to go through all these steps to hide it from her.
Today I went to the library while your mom was at work. Long walks in cold weather are perfect for hiding your smoking habit. The walk itself gives you a chance to air out. Wearing a beanie prevents the smell from getting in your hair; an old worn out coat your wife doesn’t like keeps the odor from your skin and is hidden in the back of the closet without suspicion; and having a beard as thick as mine allows you to work up a thick lather to rinse away the scent from your face.
I’d been at the library for about an hour when your mom called to say she was getting off early. “Great,” I said, lying through my smoke-stained teeth. “I’ll see you soon.” I hung up the phone, slid When the Emperor Was Divine into my pocket, and thought very carefully about what I was going to do next.