Thanks to Richard for the edit.

I flipped open my Zippo, sparking it, and brought it to the tip of my cigarette. I inhaled deeply, letting the warm smoke travel through my lungs before letting it come back out in a slow exhale. There is something about a cigarette that makes me feel powerful; makes me feel like I am the ruler of all things and, most of all, my life. I live for the day I don't need them anymore.

"Camble?"

I heard Mac yelling for me, but I didn't want to answer him just yet; I didn't want to break this spell. I needed to feel normal and, with half a cig left, I had time to spare.

"Camble, answer me boy."

"Yeah, back here," I called and put the cigarette out in the small ashtray I kept back there. I looked up to watch Mac come through the door.

"What's up?" I asked as I stood up.

"You've been back here for a while son; just wondering where you were," he said, and put a hand on my shoulder as a way of asking me if I was okay without saying the words.

"Got lost in the moment; sorry," I said, and walked past him to the door. I continued through the room, going for the swinging door that led to the front of the bar where I worked, which Mac owned.

"Cam?" I turned. "Is everything alright?"

"Mac, it's called depression," I said, laughing at the face he made. He hated it when I talked to him like a little kid. "I'll get over it; just give me a few more years."

"Maybe I can't wait a few years; maybe I want you to be happy; maybe I should knock some sense into you," Mac said, and pushed me against the bar. The man sitting at it moved his mug quickly and backed up.

"You don't have a say in the way my mind works," I said, pushing back.

"Oh yeah?" Mac pulled his fist back. It was like in slow motion; his fist coming toward me slowly; connecting with my right cheek; landing me flat on my ass and knocking over a row of glasses on the shelves kept under the bar.

"Are you nuts?" the man at the bar asked.

"Yes," I moaned, rubbing my face.

I looked up at Mac. He was standing with his fists up, beckoning me with one hand to get up. I pulled my hand away from my face, and saw blood; probably from my lip.

"You suck, man," I said, and started laughing.

"Coward," he whispered.

I knew he didn't mean it; I knew that he wouldn't have punched me if he wasn't at his wits end. I felt instant pain go through me, not from my face, but from what I had been putting Mac, and probably his wife Rhonda, through. My laughing soon turned into dry sobs. I sucked at life.

*******

I lay back in the bed of my truck and watched the sun set over the lake behind my small town. There was something about this one spot that I loved so much. There wasn't anything that great about it, but it was great to me; and it was a place that I kept coming back to again and again. To think,