Cough clenched, and vomited something chunky into the grass.
Terrific.
The big dog sat on his haunches and looked at William with a perplexed expression on his face.
"Well, eat it back up," William hissed. "Don't waste it."
Cough gave a tiny whine.
"I'm not eating your puke."
Cough panted at him.
"No.
Not Really," he said then lit a cigarette and handed it to me. I inhaled. Coughed. Wheezed. Gasped for breath. Coughed again. Considered vomiting. Grabbed the swinging bench, head spinning, and threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped on it, convinced my Great Perhaps did not involve cigarettes.
John GreenTags: smoking cigarettes smoke cough tantrums inhaled
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