One of the best feelings in the world, was after banging a crazy MILF in ghetto apartments, inching towards midnight, where someone was killed a block away at the gas station next to the sex/pipe shop, was the drive back in my shitty Dodge Intrepid, smoking a cigarette on the way home. That feeling of being on the ground, being part of the grind, being in the thick of common, of normal.
The bond you feel with being the outsider, being lonely, being alone, that bond with the cigarette, its a reminder of your best friends, while being your best friend. It's a ritual and bond that blends life and death together.