For twenty-seven years I was a slave to that nasty habit. In October 1989 I set down my last cigarette, looked at it with disgust, stubbed out the butt, and learned to appreciate fresh air instead. But after more than a decade smoke-free, I still find that not a day goes by without the desire for a cigarette. No matter how seldom he is fed, the monkey on my back never dies, it seems. It's all a question of who is the master, me or that goddamned monkey. So far I am winning.