- [x] Set timer for 20 minutes - [x] Start writing Marc never imagined he would become a smoker. Was it better, or worse, that he merely pretended to be a smoker? He would cut out for his 10 minute break mid-morning and mid-afternoon, and get in his car with the rest of the chimneys. The line forms hunched, protecting their matches from the blow from speed-walking for the parking lot where they would pretend not to smoke in their car in the non-smoking campus of the factory. He spied over both shoulders before getting into his car with the blacked out windows. He dropped down in the drivers seat, extended his hand back and felt for the little warm brown furry lump that had been (as far as he knew) sleeping nose-under-tail since he left. During his not-smoking smoking breaks, Marc petted his dog. During the fifty-nine minute lunch, he would drive 10 minutes to a little park near the ocean and scrape through the narrow line of bent pines that separated the cars from the rocky beach, where he and Leonardo Da Vinci would bounce down to the edge of the sea and play stick. Three years ago Marc had pulled off route 70 just outside of Saint Louis. A few turns had braked him at a small park. Trying to gather his bearings in the waning light, he had heard a scratching noise. He glanced over the paper map he was using to traverse the country. Focusing on the edge of a small field, he saw a puppy, no bigger than a toddler's stuffed animal, digging and chewing at the corner of a root. After picking up the puppy, he received a tongue bath, and the deal was written and signed in dirty drool. Leo had been with him day and night ever since. Leo didn't mind the cold rooms, sleeping in the car, broken air conditioners, or half-finished crosswords. Leo was not a helpful crossword partner, but he did tip his head, dropping one ear and raising the other eyebrow, when Marc crumpled the paper and threw it across the room. Now, they were at a crossroad, Marc thought. His painful, soul crushing, repetitive job would be stopping the morning and afternoon breaks. Everyone was pissed! The smokers were going to have to start chewing, or vaping, or finding other ways of managing the cravings. Marc wasn't the type to yell, or threaten union. He had to decide, was this job worth it? Would he be able to resist _his_ cravings? And would Leo be able to be alone in the car for 9 straight hours with the exception of his lunch break? Would that be fair to Leo? Why have a dog if you can't be with them? The parking lot was too far away to make it on a bathroom break. He barely had time to get there and back in the 10 minute smoke time. Nope, there was really no other choice. Did he stay and deal with the new working conditions, or, did he go? This is the kind of decision a smoke really helps you with. Instead, Marc and Leo inhaled the salt air at the park. While Marc shifted on a rock looking out at the sea, Leo chewed a stick, intermittently poking him in the leg with it, so Marc would launch it. The throw had to be the right arc for Leo to get near it just before it landed, that way Leo could see it in the rocks after it settled. After a few throws, the decision was made. Marc pulled his legs under himself, and stood. Leo wagged along behind him as they meandered back to the car. Turning the key, the tank read 3/4. That was enough to get 300 miles done before bed. Marc pulled into the motel, collected their stuff, and hit the road. Life was short, better spend as much as you can with your hand in a dogs scruff. Leo hacked choked up a mixture of bile and bark, which sank into the carpet on the back seat floor.