I write these words with a waste paper basket on my lap. I write with one hand, and with the other I feed sunflower seeds into my mouth. Since my aim is not very good, I have to look down at the basket every five seconds or risk spitting a shell into the floppy disk drive of my computer.

I don't know how to drive a car any more. I used to reach for a cigarette the way I reach for the clutch. I can't cook without a cigarette, either. As for the business of food tasting better after you quit; it's a lie. I can taste my food now and find I don't like anything I've been putting into my mouth for years.