There was a time when I smoked. I had a good job. Full of responsability, but well retribuited. So I was indipendent and felt free to do anything in every moment. Now I live in an asylum. I don’t smoke anymore. Sometime I feel the need of a cigarette but I’m able to handle the desire. If you are asking to yourself why I live here, I’ll try to explain: I killed a friend, a very close friend. One day we argued about the real meaning of a friendship. For me the friendship was like a dog and he was of the opinion that was like a cat. So I shooted to him. I spend my time thinking about him. I’m really sorry for my behavior. The day that I’ll breath fresh air again, I’ll smoke my last cigarette.