You slam the heavy wooden door behind you as you enter the bedroom.
Your eyes are still burning from the bastard sun being selfishly bright the one day you'd forgotten your shades.
You smirk at the irony.
An itch makes itself noticeable on beneath your facial hair.
You scratch away but, if anything, it just makes it worse.
You admit defeat and run your hands through your hair before dropping them suddenly, down by your side.
You notice traces of your gray hair have begun to fall out.
Is that alopecia finally starting to kick in?
Brother always warned you, didn't he?
Your chest feels rock solid as you inhale heavily.
As you breath out, you notice the tobacco starting to take its toll on your lungs, a harsh tickling yet burning feeling rising from the bottom of your lungs to the top of your trachea.
This tickling makes you cough loudly and painfully.
Mother would be so ashamed to hear her little boy suffering so much because of something he could have avoided.
Then again, she may say the