The Last Cigarette on Earth

A gay Latino's intimate journey through addiction, human desire and broken love. A major Latino writer's intimate but healing journey through addiction, human desire and broken love. From He Leaves a Message in the Middle of the Night He loved beer and crack. He loved heroin, ecstasy, the sad music of the bars. He said he loved you too. You are thinking of the night you met him. Late October night, the breeze as soft as his black eyes. He was so hungry for trouble. You were so hungry for anything that resembled love. Your finger tracing the tattoos on his chest, you dreamed of living in the prison of his arms. But you refused to live in the prison of his deadly nights. You can't survive without the morning light. You repeat this again and again: He's a man, not an illness. Tattoos and prison. Novels and poems. A bird can love a fish but they can't live in your apartment. He called again last night and left a message that was meant to wound. He said: I want to know what you meant when you said I love you. You said: I love you. I meant I love you. He said: I want to know what you meant when you said goodbye. You said: Goodbye. I meant goodbye. You whispered his name in the dark.