Cigarettes remind me of anorexic girls, primarily ballerinas. I smoke them so I can get their talent, so I can dance in my polka dotted rain boots to the mini mart and not have a panic attack. Beer reminds me of fairies, primarily the dead ones. The ones that knew that they were fucked. Out there in reality was some drunk fool clapping it’s hands on a street corner screaming.. “I don’t believe in fairies.” Motel Rooms remind me of mermaids, primarily the ones that ran away, swam away. The ones that wanted to be famous but now are out there in room 216 B waiting for the next trick, the fix.