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January 16, 2011
Smoke puffs out of his mouth, thicker and whiter than I expected. It looks like milk spilling upwards. Oddly hypnotizing.

It stays together in one mushroom clouded clump as it floats lazily towards the ceiling. I keep expecting it to disperse, but it seems to be quite determined to stay intact. Stubborn little thing.

Eventually fingers of air from the fan grab on and rip pieces away until it is nothing but haze--a veil hiding the features of the room from our bored and weary eyes. Too many hours on the computer.

Really, who writes about smoke?