Ferdie picked up a magazine off the coffee table in the living room, flipping through it idly, trying to think about something… anything… but smoking. Tossing the magazine aside in irritation, he grabbed the remote, switching on the TV in search of something worth watching. He automatically started at the Food Network, watching fellow chefs hone their craft, but even that wasn’t enough to distract him from the gnawing feeling inside of him that was a nic fit waiting to happen.
He was all but shaking, nervous, anxious, twitchy, for lack of a better term. He began bouncing his knee, and pounding it with his fist, picked up the magazine, put it back down, stood up, walked to the kitchen, walked back to the living room, sat down again. Twitch. Jerk. His chest was tight, and his hand twitched as if he were flicking ashes off a cigarette. “Fuck it!” he swore, all but running to his room. Door slammed behind him, he fished a cigarette out of the pack he’d thrown in the trash, and found an abandoned lighter under his bed. Opening the window, he lit the damned thing and inhaled. Holding it for a moment, he released it into the air, smoke rings filtering through the window screen.
ferdilicious