the day before old Henry quit smoking
• Old Henry had spent a lifetime with a cigarette in hand, filling the air with a thick haze of smoke. His wife, Martha, sighed as she wiped soot from the keys of her beloved piano. The once-vibrant notes now carried a faint smell of stale tobacco. Bob, their ginger cat, sneezed disdainfully from his perch, glaring at Henry.
"Henry, that piano was my mother's!" Martha scolded.
"Tomorrow, I’ll quit," Henry replied, puffing away.
Years passed, and tomorrow never came. Henry sat one last time in his favorite chair, the smoke curling around him like an old friend. His breath was labored, his voice faint.
"I mean it, Martha," he rasped, managing a weak smile. "Tomorrow, I’ll quit."
As the room fell silent, Martha held his hand. The piano keys remained untouched, carrying a bittersweet melody of promises never kept.
the day before old Henry quit smoking
• Old Henry had spent a lifetime with a cigarette in hand, filling the air with a thick haze of smoke. His wife, Martha, sighed as she wiped soot from the keys of her beloved piano. The once-vibrant notes now carried a faint smell of stale tobacco. Bob, their ginger cat, sneezed disdainfully from his perch, glaring at Henry.
"Henry, that piano was my mother's!" Martha scolded.
"Tomorrow, I’ll quit," Henry replied, puffing away.
Years passed, and tomorrow never came. Henry sat one last time in his favorite chair, the smoke curling around him like an old friend. His breath was labored, his voice faint.
"I mean it, Martha," he rasped, managing a weak smile. "Tomorrow, I’ll quit."
As the room fell silent, Martha held his hand. The piano keys remained untouched, carrying a bittersweet melody of promises never kept.