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                         smokers die

                                                         younger





Sarah Louise Allen


  "Sometimes it's hard to tell where
  the past ends and the present takes
  over But I know, deep down, that
this night is different. When Brooke
presses her lips to mine, its' a show.
   It s our party trick. And it works,
                     every time. "


I've had too much to drink. It's official now. It's four-thirty a.m. and
I'm
      sprawled on an air mattress with a French girl watching Irish boys
roll
      flecks of hash with innards of Marlboro lights. They take turns carefully
      cutting off skins and gutting the middles, they've developed their
own
      system free from rolling paper.
   It's impressive. I can't stop watching. When I tried to roll, I broke
the lighter.
   "What'd yeh expect? They all smoke outteh glass and shite. Duffy,
pass me
another fag."
   I like the way they say Marlboro, when they do say it. Most of the time
it's that
word. The word I'd get shot saying if I said it back home. Where I come from,
cigarettes are called cigarettes. A spade is a spade.
   But that's half the reason I'm here. Ireland leaves me on my toes, constantly
looking closer.
   "How do yeh like that?" Collie stands up, proud to take due
credit. He's one
of those guys that'll look young even at forty. There's an unwritten rule
in Ireland
that as soon as you can see over the bar you're allowed to be sloshed. For
some
reason Collie still gets carded.
   "A vision, Collie. Really."
   It's in his face. They like fucking with him.
   Collie smiles, a sheepish grin as he takes his reward. He exhales through
nostrils
and a boy I don't know shakes his head.
   "Sick bastard," the boy says. Collie coughs.
   I've given up on another hit. They don't understand why puff-puff-pass
is so
wrong. They don't understand that puff-puff-puff-puff-puff-pass leaves this
girl
sad and less stoned then everyone else in the room. The French girl smoked
the
whole damn joint and left me ash and burnt fingers.
   I'd say something to her, but she doesn't speak a word.
   There's a crash in the kitchen. Pots and pans and god-knows-what-else.
A girl
screams. A guy yells, "You fLick!"
   "Ahyehfeckin gobshites, notinmy house!"Julie,anoverweightandsassyredhead
I was sure passed out hours ago, is revived by the noise. Broken bottles,
overturned
chairs. She runs into the hall with an alarming sense of determination.
   I look to Collie. Collie shrugs.
   Minutes pass and Julie returns with Johnny's collar in one hand and Finian's
in
the other. Johnny's lip is bleeding and Finian looks like he could go off
again at any


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