Nobody mentioned the markup

Two numbers settle whether this was ever a good deal, and you already know both. Number one is how much it took to get you through a day at the start, and how hard it hit. Number two is the same question for your last stretch. The kick went down. The amount usually climbed to chase it. Nobody mailed you a notice. Nobody asked you to approve the change.

That wasn't stress, or age, or your personality. Your body adjusted to every dose, so each one landed softer, so you reached for more. The cigarette kept raising its price and shrinking what it delivered. It's the chip bag that costs a little more every trip and holds a little more air. It happened in slivers, so you never felt the markup. A price that climbs slowly enough feels like weather.

Memory only replays the early chapter, back when it felt like a treat. It skips the trend line underneath. It had a direction, and the direction was down. The next stretch was always going to ask for more. More money. More of your mornings. More of your attention. You stepped off right here. Every step further down is a bill you'll never have to pay.

Tonight, pay yourself the first installment. Take a slice of what one week used to cost and spend it on something that gives back. A good meal. A new book. Flowers for your own table. God pulled you off that slope and set your feet on level ground. That hill only ran one way, and you're off it.