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Deep down, I knew it wasn’t just a cigarette that I held in my fingers. I mean, I didn’t even smoke.

Deep down, I knew that my yes to this cigarette reflected my yeses to other, more problematic compromises. I knew that I was enslaved to what people thought of me and that I consistently jeopardized myself as a result.

This cigarette was far from just a cigarette; it was the dart that hit the bullseye on my existential restlessness.

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