If I make it through this year without becoming a pack a day smoker, it may be a miracle. Everyone smokes all the damn time. And when we have a break from class, everyone is smoking. Social smokers become real smokers with frightening speed. Every time folks are smoking, I want to bum one, but I must not. Nicole's little pack of social smokes that caught me last week have left me wanting more, like after having a coffee in the morning for a couple of days in a row. Anyway, these folks in my class are almost all Americans, so they have no excuse. I have no excuse. Must not start smoking!
Oh, my beloved baguette
Crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside, so long and play-weapon like. I can buy you across the street from my house and take you home fresh, baked within the last day. I can tear your end off as I walk down the street and eat your heel. I can eat you with cheese or alone or with tomatoes or with my soup and tear you or slice you. What will I do when I return to berkeley? I will have to move across from a bakery. I don't know how I lived without you coming into my house fresh every day. Never again will we be long parted!