quitting

the other shoppers puncture my awareness
like the pitchfork that i envision myself using on their faces.
each one of them seems to look at me wrongly,
as the grocery clerk stares at me with her have-a-nice-dazed glare.
i'd like to smack it from her paper-or-plastic grin.
but then she drops a roll of quarters onto the floor
and my brow stops twitching.
i smile back,
and having gained the satisfaction that a cigarette cannot provide,
my urges are momentarily snuffed out.