Little cigarette. My friend, my companion, my enemy, my addiction. 80mm long, 5-7 minutes to smoke. Then a dirty butt with coffee-colored stain. It's wrinkled and compressed from my lips. Other end is black and chalky gray, crumpled from the ashtray. A slight whiff reminds me of popcorn, but a closer smell tickles the nose. Smells like smoke.

Fresh and unlit it smells like a barn, like the wood in a barn. It's kind of pleasant, maybe like an old attic. Yes, like my grandmother's attic. The filter looks like a cork -- Who decided it should? -- Brown paper with tan splotches. Feels spongy between my fingers, like foam padding. A band of white separates it from the cigarette, with two gold stripes encircling. Then thin white paper, very thin, stuffed full of tobacco. I can almost see through to the dry crumbled leaves inside. Shiny spots of glue sparkle where the paper overlaps. Cute little camel printed there, standing on a thin brown line.

It's calling me now.

A bright flame, a puff of smoke, an inhalation. It's dry on the tongue, filter warm on the lips. Smoke in the lungs -- a feeling of fullness, like taking a really big breath of air. Feels good. Feels right. Tip is reddish-orange, surrounded by white ash, trying to hold its form. It fails. Now black ash chasing a black line, fading to brown away from the heat. Little camel is burned. Smoke still flows through the filter after the last puff. Exhalation. Butt crushed.