fumes raze how about this haze, she said. they say it's the same as smoking a cigarette every hour. and i remembered the first two cylinders i took into my lungs. the head rush, the afterburn, and the crash that came when the wonder wore off. i remembered too the few i smoked when i was old enough to buy a pack of my own. the ones that were inhaled in anger and did nothing but burn my throat and leave me smelling of rancid herbs. at least back then i was doing it to myself. now we're all woven together by this thick summer mist, held hostage by the whims of distant wildfires. 230701 what's it to you? who go blather from