I began to unfold an orange, piercing the corner of an expired airline credit card through the top, and retired to using my fingers to squeeze under the skin and peel away the hard outer layer. I balanced in my right hand the dying end of a cigarette, which was nearly blown out by the time I’d undressed my snack. As I imagine myself there again, I could have lit another one, but frankly, every time I stop smoking as frequently, I hate the taste when I begin again. I looked closely at the orange tissue as I broke it apart and widened my eyes trying my very best to forget the wooden bench pushing into my shoulder blades. I pushed myself back into the wood, pressing it between my bones in the soft muscle of my back, like I used to press on my front teeth trying to make them straight and make them sting and tickle. The orange ripped unevenly, and I ate a huge bite. The juice squirted from the sides of my mouth and in my head, I jousted myself, reminded of the terrible nights I had and would spend crying and breathing like a crazed dog. On the other horse, the reasonable one who knew that no matter how I mutilated a good night’s sleep, another day would come and I’d forget for some time my disturbed self and return to the world, a ridiculous and funny person.