What Once Was
He is a cigarette smoker and has carried this habit for more than forty years. He's a talker, a teller of funny stories, and if he should laugh when recounting a story, he chokes, he wheezes, he coughs, and he is without breath. If he is sitting slouched and begins this cough-choking, he sits himself upright to try and breathe in any air he can get. In these moments, it's difficult to listen to him. The cough-choking is deep and thick and worrisome. He wears glasses, and he takes them off when gasping for air because his eyes are watering. He wipes away the moisture. When he is able to breathe again, he composes himself. There is a hint of embarrassment when these cough-choking attacks happen. He doesn't say so outright, but the shy look in his blue eyes and the small smirk of his kissable mouth acknowledge the experienced discomfort. He strokes his gray-white goatee and licks his lips. He resettles. And soon enough, in time, he reaches for another cigarette. He lights it.
