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"You smoke like a girl," she teased.

I don't smoke. I'm sure I'm doing it right, though. I'm holding it right. I'm taking just enough of a suck at the filter to not choke myself. It doesn't taste too bad; slightly burnt, homemade fruitcake.

"I'm smoking like a man."

"You're a... good lover. Better than you are a smoker."

"Only 'good?' And you thought for a bit before saying 'good.'"

"Oh, there's technique to fill you in on, but I can't fault your enthusiasm."

Maybe I should have been more enthusiastic about the cigarette.

That tobacco smell's going to linger.

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