What you were really buying

You never bought a cigarette. You bought a picture. Someone leaning on a wall at a party, unbothered, clearly wanted there. Calm in rooms that made you nervous. Easy to be around. You weren't paying for a chemical. You were paying for that person. The cigarette was just a prop in the shot.

Then the order arrived. You know the burger in the ad, tall and glossy, and the flat one they hand you in a paper bag? This was worse. What showed up was upkeep. A supply to track. Breaks to plan around. A low hum under everything, asking when the next one is. The cigarette billed you for the photo and shipped you the chores.

Now look at what you've got instead. You sit in a room and stay in it. You wake up with no errand waiting. You're easy to be near, with nothing tugging you toward the door. Every piece that picture promised, you now own for real. Not the pose of ease. The ease. God made the originals, and He's handing them back.

Go take the real picture. Next time you're laughing with people you like, all the way there, grab a photo of the moment. Keep it where you'll see it. When the old poster drifts back some evening, hold the two side by side. One's a pose somebody staged. The other one's you.