Skanks.

Once upon a time, I was 14 years old and living in Paris for the summer. I went to an international school and befriended some Australian twins, Estelle and Stephanie. These girls were 16, pack-a-day smokers, street-smart, and beautiful. They took me under their wing and brought me to flea markets and stores around town and it made me feel incredibly cool. One day, I asked them if I could try a cigarette. Estelle asked me if I was sure. I nodded and they looked at each other and smiled - the feeling to corrupt someone must be disgustingly satisfying - took out a pack of Marlboro Reds, and put one in my mouth. I was completely intent on doing this, and doing it right. We all stopped in the marble arch doorway of their apartment and Stephanie lit my cigarette.

I didn't know how to smoke it. I didn't know how to inhale. So, we went on with our day, walking around Paris. They were intent on teaching me how to do this, so for the entire afternoon, Estelle continuously put a new cigarette in my mouth as soon as the last one would burn down to the butt. Regardless of whether or not I was really smoking, I felt cool. After the seventh or eighth cigarette, I burst into a coughing fit. Estelle and Stephanie's faces lit up. I did it! From then on, I was a smoker... at least, whenever they would bum me one.

A few weeks later, a girl from Detroit named Helen joined our classes at the school. She was a bad girl, from her gelled, slicked back ponytail to her baggy jeans. She smoked cigarettes like Estelle and Stephanie did, and made fun of me when I'd cough. She told me I was dumb for liking No Doubt. Helen and the twins went to bars and discotheques and got drunk. Helen met a boy and lost her virginity in a park. The twins thought that was cool. Helen, Helen, Helen. I was heartbroken. My only friends in this huge city of Paris, and they were taken away from me by a skank.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't think of Estelle and Stephanie when I smoke cigarettes, sometimes. I remember their faces well. Those bitches.