Photo Story: Last Cigarette
She’ll have to suck on a mint, rub more 
sandalwood oil on her skin. She opens a window, but the smoke hovers, sinks into her dress.
The lace itches and she’s decided not to wear the veil. Enough with the coy, the chaste.
She said yes because everyone told her to say no. Now satin-covered tables hold Zen centerpieces built from mysteriously balanced rocks. Some kind of metaphor.
It won’t end well. But there’s a dance afterward and she loves to dance.
She takes one last drag, hears a gentle knock at the door. Her lips paint the filter red.
Photographer: a.pitch
I love this little vignette! A glimpse into the bride’s internal dialogue. Well done, and though it’s an altogether different subject, it brought me back to my college days. Four of us sitting around an ancient dining room table, an ashtray overflowing with butts, none of us smokers… unless we were having adult beverages!