when I was eleven years old, my best friend Michelle Baker and I thought that we would look more grown up if we started smoking. My parents smoked, so we devised a plan for me to steal their cigarettes, and then Michelle and I would meet behind K. J. Clark Middle School to smoke. We thought smoking would make us more popular with the older kids who hung out there. The next morning I sneaked into my mother's room and stole a pack of Pallmall Gold cigarettes from her carton, and a pack of matches from her bed table. I hurried out the door to school with the overwhelming fear my mother would catch me before I could get there. I ran two whole blocks before I met up with Michelle. I proudly showed her my stolen pack of cigarettes, and she was impressed with my story of how I was able to slip the smokes out of the house. By her reaction, I just knew I was becoming more popular already.
of cigarettes. We each took one cigarette and lit it up. It was the nastiest thing I had ever tasted! I tried to inhale the smoke as I had seen my parents do, but instead of breathing a long sigh of satisfaction, I thought I would cough up a lung. I hated it! For some unexplainable reason, I kept going back behind school and lighting one up. Twenty-one years later I am still smoking. I cannot go a day without a cigarette; I am addicted. I wake up in the middle of the night to light one up, and it is the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning. I have even fallen asleep with a cigarette in my hand, almost catching my bed on fire. I fell asleep holding a cigarette last night. When I let my hand relax, the cigarette dropped and burned on my right hand. I always smell like smoke. I can chew all the peppermint I want, but the smell is still there. My belief that smoking would ma
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