Character Sketch 2Meal time. The most dreaded time of my day. It was when the kids used to pester me, crowing like vultures over a deer carcass, bitching about the fact that they didn't want deer, they wanted bobcat. God, Mom. It is when the dog scratches at my ankles and gives me the saddest look I've ever seen in my entire life, as though he hasn't eaten in twelve years and all he wants is just the tiniest morsel. Please, Mom? It is when-
"Whatcha doin'?" It is the time when my husband hangs on my every word when he knows I don't want to talk at all.
I hear the floorboards creak as he makes his way over to me. A weight gently presses itself on my shoulder and I feel his mustache tickle my ear. I nonchalantly pat his balding head. I refuse to give him the pleasure of answering, knowing it is futile but resisting all the same.
"Those look like yummy tor-till-uhs."
"Tor-tee-yas," I correct.
"No, tor-till-uh. If we were in China, it would be tor-till-uh. Tor-till-uh the Pun."
He laughs, and despite the co
Character Sketch 1In a way, he had romanticized smoking. The banner of thick, white mist rising into the night, the rivulets of flame seeping down the neck of the cigarette, and the dark, mysterious, brooding persona he felt it gave enchanted him. His psyche made it glamorous, made it sound like it was worth all the trouble the media told him he'd suffer later. As if he cared about that anyway.
He had always been a fan of Camel Turkish Royals. It wasn't so much the flavor. If he had wanted flavor, he could have opted for Crush Menthols, or Black & Mild cigarillos. He knew the reason was psychological. Maybe it was because of his father. The bastard had always been a Marlboro man, chain smoking the things and leaving the blood red cases all about the house. Maybe it was because of his high school friends who had gotten him hooked in the first place and used Turkish Royals to do it. Maybe it was because of his coworkers who wouldn't let him drop the habit. Maybe it was just him.
Whatever the cause, whatev