My only salvation tonight (apart from rendevous with old mates who I thought were dead) was my pack of silk cut in the smoking area. I usually smoke Lucky Strikes (it's the cheapest and I heard Tom Waits smokes em) but they taste like shit, so I treated myself to my uncle's brand. Silk Cut. I think this is how addiction starts. It tastes like a wet Asian princess on a bed of blue roses, on a beach somewhere, far away from Dublin town.