Nick Lacans, Private Semiotician

Case One: Blood of a Poet

Photo by Felix Mooneeram on Unsplash

I looked out the window of the Lower East Side office-studio I called home. The neon lights atop Sufi’s Tofu Parlor flashed in an almost detectable rhythmic pattern. I lit the last of my Marlboro 100’s, inhaled deeply, coughed, and then quickly extinguished it.

God, I hated smoking.