Doing 90 through the forest we practiced overtaking each other, one after another without end, to the annoyance of the regular traffic. We were three students in each car, and besides my brother there was a young girl with a lisp and heterochromia sitting next to me in the back seat. I had been the first to drive, and now that Tomasz was doing the overtake-mambo, I was free to cough my brains out.
-You’ve got a cold? She askes after an extended volley.
-Not anymore, I answer. “Asthmatic bronchitis.”
-Oh, I had a horse with that.
Horses cough and have asthma? Seriously? It feels odd having the same disease as a farm animal.
Doc said I should feel better in a weeks time, but that I ought to medicate for another month or so. Oh, joy.
The only interesting thing to come of this is that I haven’t smoked the past week. Even thought I still consider myself a smoker, this might be a good time to break the habit. Becoming a sober smoker, so to speak.
Odd that, how easily one identifies with ones visible habits; I don’t remember not being a smoker. What the hell did I do with my time? I wasn’t happier, nor do I recall being helthier or more charming. I smelled less of smoke, but smoke often smells good. I’ve been sitting next to my brother, and dang it, the dusty tarry tobacco smell is nice.
I’ve booked time for both the written and practical exams, and if things work out I’ll be inserting car-related topics into every conversation for the following months. I will wear the license stapled to my forehead.
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