Smoking Can Kill (Your Love Life)

Steve shows me how to hold the smoke in.
At 16 I’m already a veteran cigarette smoker,
so that’s not the problem.
Twenty minutes into my first session,
I tell him I’m sorry to say it but this marijuana thing
doesn’t seem to be affecting me.
Steve says to hold on, this is genuine Maui Wowee,
and it will absolutely kick my ass.

A half hour later we’re riding in my car,
both stoned as hell, and I’m teaching Steve to drive.
He’s working on his license; I already have mine.
Steve lives three blocks from a girl at our school,
one year older, and every guy’s in love with her.
Steve stops opposite her house, then lays on the horn
and screams her name out the window.
The porch lights flash on, and as the front door opens,
Steve puts pedal to metal and we fly away home.

Now we’re into regular smoke and drive sessions,
repeat our ritual several nights a week.
The horn blasting and screaming her name never gets old – for us.
One night the lights go on, and there is a man standing on the porch.
As we blast out of there, Steve courting his dream woman for the last time,
he laments a truest love that will never be fulfilled.

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