Crisp

You'll never catch me huddled outside of a bar, hands shivering, hurriedly feeding any nicotine fix. But as soon as the temperature begins to drop, there's nothing better than the first clove cigarette of the season. I don't know what it is, but the near freezing night really lends itself to smoking. When every inhale is met with a sharp sting of cold air and every exhale lingers just a little bit longer as my warm breath mixes with the nighttime air. The near frigid night enchants me to smoke. The sweetness that lingers on my lips, the pleasant mix of cinnamon in the air, and that ever-so light-headed feeling I get as head back inside. I like that.