How bad do you want it?

I know how it feels, you arise to the addiction, the hunger, your chest suffering from all that clean fresh, untainted air that filled your lungs the whole night as you slept peacefully, all curled up in your my little pony sheets. Now it's the dawn of a new day and without thought, just impulse, you reach for your soft pack of Viceroys only to find that in your drunken stupor the previous night you forgot to buy a new pack and your out of luck, and Viceroys. What are you going to do? I guess the only answer is to throw on your daisy dukes and some half cabs and half step your way to the local bodega to re-up, but to no avail. Your broke, you spent all your cash at the karaoke bar getting sloshed while singing Nickelback songs and you haven't a nickel bag, let alone a nickel to your name. With options few and far between you stagger your half drunken, nicotine jonesing ass out the door of your pad and head down the stairs to the street where your options multiply. Looking around for the first sad soul you can bum a stoge from you see a bum you can steal a butt from, sleeping in the morning sun on a bench built of love and hope. You inch closer and closer, you can almost taste the tobacco, your lips tingling, throat kvetching, lungs constricting. You reach for the stoge dangling from the hobos lips and make a clean getaway. You did it, you won the game, you past the test, you pitted yourself against addiction and you won, you beat it, you prevailed. From the lips of a hobo you live again! Standing tall and triumphant you wipe the shmutz off the end of your freshly swiped cig and place it between your lips ready to taste the fruits of your labor! You gleefully reach into your pockets and finger around searching for fire but alas you have none to be found, you don't even have the keys to your humble abode. You sigh and rest your weary bones on the curb and soak up the fact that your back to square one. Addiction is a worthy adversary...