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Weekly Contest #373
The flick of the lighter was the only form of comfort I had at this point. Inhaling the rolled-up nicotine and letting the smoke evaporate around me was a twisted form of peace. If I couldn’t have the needle, at least I had the smoke. It was late and I’d let my break last a couple minutes too long, probably. I knew Chef wouldn’t be happy with me, but it was growing harder and harder to care. I only had this job because Ricky really stuck his neck out for me, and I knew I shoul...
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