Eva Alexander Brie knew that smoking wasn’t good for her, but knowing and caring were two very different things. She was beginning to lose interest. Smoking didn’t give her a rush, or any kind of enjoyment at all anymore, so, she decided to quit. Now she was sitting on the hood of her car, staring down the canyon, and praying no one thought to look for her here — she was in the mood for vandalism. She slid off the hood, and pulled open the stubborn driver’s side door, muttering about getting a new car. This was a promise she often made but never kept. She crawled in on her hands and knees, searching for the plastic bag containing the thousands of unopened packs of cigarettes she’d bought over her two years of smoking, and a small ketchup bottle of gasoline. She swore when she banged her knee, and knocked the bobble head of Frank from Men in Black onto her head. She withdrew from the car, and sat on the ground, defeated, though she’d only barely started.

Brie sighed, stood, stretched, and turned to her car only to see the bag she’d been looking for on the roof. She stared at it, wondering if this was a bad omen in reference to her smoking. She picked it up, pulled the bottle out, and left it on the hood before walking away. A few hundred yards out, she opened a pack of cigarettes, and began scattering them behind her as she walked forward. She continued to do this until she ran out of packs, maybe half a mile away. She walked back scattering shredded paper this time, and when she reached the car, again retraced her steps, drizzling gasoline over the trail of cigarettes and paper. Looking over her handiwork, she was slightly amused. Spontaneous actions — like filling a ketchup bottle full of gasoline — were not spontaneous at all. Somewhere in her mind, she’d been planning to do something like this, so she had the gas on hand at all times. She shrugged at the thought, walked back to the car, lit a match, and tossed it. It wasn’t safe: She knew that there would be some repercussions. But at the moment, she was looking for an adrenaline rush. She turned the keys in the ignition and stepped on the gas, smirking as she looked at the trail of fire in her rearview mirror. It wouldn’t last, but it would be nice to look at while it burned.

She drove up to the ancient record store her great uncle had left to her, parked around back, and leaned her head against the wheel. She hadn’t accomplished much today, though she was certain she wouldn’t smoke again. She might start chewing on toothpicks though. Not having something to chew on was likely to drive her crazy, and soon. With a little groan, she pushed the door open and got out, leaving her keys in, half hoping someone would steal the damned thing. Maybe then she’d have something new to do.