Market carpark, eleven thirty am

Leaving the market carpark just now, I saw a man in a car which would soon be vintage were it not so beaten up, and he held, between his lips, a cigarette in one of those plastic filters that you used to see around the time his car was made.

It made me think, the following thought which will one day lead to greater thoughts: when my mother wasn’t giving up smoking, she was talking about giving up smoking.

For example, while typing out that thought, I have just now thought: at BBQs, she would open the filter up and use a match to scrape at the tar, then hold the match in her eyeline and say ‘that’s what’s not in my lungs’.

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