I want a cigarette. Or at least I did want one. It’s a very convincing idea. Putting the smoking area in one tiny room at the far end of the airport where you have to climb three flights of stairs to get to the damn thing.
I’m stood here now, in this tiny room, crammed full of people. I can hardly see them through the smoky haze. I feel like I’ve had ten already. It’s a bad habit.
I’m not proud. I’ve a long flight ahead. Well, I’m here now, I’ll smoke the fucking thing whether I enjoy it or not.