For some strange reason, unbeknown to his friends, he once picked up the habit of smoking. It was nearly straight after he watched this film, which had this quirky, eccentric, yet charismatic character who made smoking seem like something that classy and sophisticated people do. The guy, after watching this movie, became quite fascinated by the persona he watched on his television screen. He admired the character’s charm; his dashing looks, and his way with words – the gentleman on the screen appeared to melt the hearts of the girls all the way to the bedroom. There was actually one particular scene which stood out for the guy. The character was briskly walking down a busy street, hand in pocket, whilst the other held the end of a cigarette between two fingers. Blowing the smoke into the air, the man had this aura of power, and mystery, which enchanted the viewer. The way his arm slowly but assuredly raised so that his lips lightly hugged the butt, with each inhalation forming a slightly furrowed brow, made him look serious but enticing.
It was a scene showing a man in control of his life; a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. A man who was carried by his confidence and belief in himself, and who let nobody come between his determination and his goals. This may not have been the director’s intention, but the guy sat and watched this film, and was excited by the strength of this man. He admired that “I do not give a flying 747 fuck” attitude that exuded from the man’s every move. The cigarette was smoked so eloquently…so confidently…so much in control that one could believe that this man would conquer any threat of disease brought about by it. This man on the film cared not for such things, and lived his days with security, assuredness, and a distinct will to tackle life head on. His smile, humour, sense of style and mannerisms made this character more than a man to this guy. To this guy, he was a God – and following the word of a God was paramount in living life to the fullest, or so those preacher’s say. He wanted to be him.
The first packet of cigarettes were of a highly filtered variety, allowing for a more weak and smooth inhalation of smoke. He was a beginner in this realm of smoking, and he did not want to risk embarrassing himself in public by coughing from a stronger range of cigarette. Doing so would destroy his image, not only to others, but of himself. It would be weak and pussy to do that, he thought, so he paid the 10 dollars for the pack of Lights, and then went on his way to smoke his very first ciggy.
It was a warm day outside, with a hint of a cool breeze. The sun was out, shining up the world around him. He felt that God had offered him a good day for his new beginning… He felt that the light of the sun was being shone on him, for it was his time to make a change, to put things in motion. Eyeing his surroundings he felt a surge of excitement through his veins. His heart skipped a beat, and he momentarily felt overwhelmed by what this cigarette symbolized. It would be the end of the boring me, he said to himself. It would be a move from that boring self, to a more charismatic, fascinating character, like the man in the film. As he drew the first cigarette, and pulled out his lighter, he saw himself in the movie, playing that exciting character. Lighting it up, he was determined to emulate everything he saw in that scene. He was focused, and had concentrated hard to mimic every move the character made in the film. Everything had to be controlled. There was no room for fuck ups, he thought, because he had to maintain an image – not only to others, but to himself.
Drawing in his first breath, he felt an ache in his chest, as if somebody was squeezing his lungs from the inside. It was an uncomfortable feeling, made worse by the disgusting taste of the cigarette. Withdrawing the cigarette, the guy cleared his throat, and stood with one hand in his pocket, just as it was in the film. As he walked, he noticed several faces frowning in his direction. He thought he saw one old lady even shaking her head and muttering something under her breath as he passed her. Confused, the guy decided to stop walking to lean against a pillar next to a fruit stand to finish his cigarette and to comprehend the basis of these peoples’ negative reactions. The cigarette rested idly between his fingers, and the wispy smoke slowly rose into the air. Am I doing something wrong, he questioned. In the movie it worked out so fine, people thought the character was cool. He stood there and pondered about this setback, as the cigarette slowly burnt itself away.
“Hey you!”, the words cut through the guy’s thoughts like a knife through paper. “The sign says NO SMOKING .. So get the fuck outta here, you’re killin my customers.” The guy turned to the direction of the voice, and was met with a group of unhappy looks on the face of patrons, who ushered him away with their eyes.
As he walked away, the excitement he felt at beginning his new life with the cigarette was replaced by a resounding feeling of disgust. Appalled, the guy held the cigarette in front of his eyes, and stared at it, mind deep in thought. He questioned his actions. What the fuck am I doing, he asked himself. Who the fuck am I? From the reactions of the people, he definitely was not the guy in the film, and this left him feeling slightly depressed. If he was not the guy in the film, then he was himself, which filled him with frustration and bitterness. Feeling defeated, he squashed the cigarette under his shoe, and made his way back home. There were still another few movies he had to watch.
It was a scene showing a man in control of his life; a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. A man who was carried by his confidence and belief in himself, and who let nobody come between his determination and his goals. This may not have been the director’s intention, but the guy sat and watched this film, and was excited by the strength of this man. He admired that “I do not give a flying 747 fuck” attitude that exuded from the man’s every move. The cigarette was smoked so eloquently…so confidently…so much in control that one could believe that this man would conquer any threat of disease brought about by it. This man on the film cared not for such things, and lived his days with security, assuredness, and a distinct will to tackle life head on. His smile, humour, sense of style and mannerisms made this character more than a man to this guy. To this guy, he was a God – and following the word of a God was paramount in living life to the fullest, or so those preacher’s say. He wanted to be him.
The first packet of cigarettes were of a highly filtered variety, allowing for a more weak and smooth inhalation of smoke. He was a beginner in this realm of smoking, and he did not want to risk embarrassing himself in public by coughing from a stronger range of cigarette. Doing so would destroy his image, not only to others, but of himself. It would be weak and pussy to do that, he thought, so he paid the 10 dollars for the pack of Lights, and then went on his way to smoke his very first ciggy.
It was a warm day outside, with a hint of a cool breeze. The sun was out, shining up the world around him. He felt that God had offered him a good day for his new beginning… He felt that the light of the sun was being shone on him, for it was his time to make a change, to put things in motion. Eyeing his surroundings he felt a surge of excitement through his veins. His heart skipped a beat, and he momentarily felt overwhelmed by what this cigarette symbolized. It would be the end of the boring me, he said to himself. It would be a move from that boring self, to a more charismatic, fascinating character, like the man in the film. As he drew the first cigarette, and pulled out his lighter, he saw himself in the movie, playing that exciting character. Lighting it up, he was determined to emulate everything he saw in that scene. He was focused, and had concentrated hard to mimic every move the character made in the film. Everything had to be controlled. There was no room for fuck ups, he thought, because he had to maintain an image – not only to others, but to himself.
Drawing in his first breath, he felt an ache in his chest, as if somebody was squeezing his lungs from the inside. It was an uncomfortable feeling, made worse by the disgusting taste of the cigarette. Withdrawing the cigarette, the guy cleared his throat, and stood with one hand in his pocket, just as it was in the film. As he walked, he noticed several faces frowning in his direction. He thought he saw one old lady even shaking her head and muttering something under her breath as he passed her. Confused, the guy decided to stop walking to lean against a pillar next to a fruit stand to finish his cigarette and to comprehend the basis of these peoples’ negative reactions. The cigarette rested idly between his fingers, and the wispy smoke slowly rose into the air. Am I doing something wrong, he questioned. In the movie it worked out so fine, people thought the character was cool. He stood there and pondered about this setback, as the cigarette slowly burnt itself away.
“Hey you!”, the words cut through the guy’s thoughts like a knife through paper. “The sign says NO SMOKING .. So get the fuck outta here, you’re killin my customers.” The guy turned to the direction of the voice, and was met with a group of unhappy looks on the face of patrons, who ushered him away with their eyes.
As he walked away, the excitement he felt at beginning his new life with the cigarette was replaced by a resounding feeling of disgust. Appalled, the guy held the cigarette in front of his eyes, and stared at it, mind deep in thought. He questioned his actions. What the fuck am I doing, he asked himself. Who the fuck am I? From the reactions of the people, he definitely was not the guy in the film, and this left him feeling slightly depressed. If he was not the guy in the film, then he was himself, which filled him with frustration and bitterness. Feeling defeated, he squashed the cigarette under his shoe, and made his way back home. There were still another few movies he had to watch.
