Nicotine

The music is so loud that I can feel every vibration run through my body like a thousand lightning shots and my body is moving in a million different ways, twisting and turning around the bodies blocking the kitchen. The cigarette is already out of the packaging and between my lips before I have stepped out the door onto the rooftop terrace - how desperately I wish for the soothing embrace of nicotine running through my veins. It is sunrise; the cool mist of early morning air brushes my arms and brings goosebumps wherever it treads. I know I should go home now: I have not slept properly for days and the alcohol is starting to wear off.

But for whatever reason compels me, I stay.