As a literary device, I love cigarettes. As a real-world item, I hate them. They stink. They're expensive. They're addictive. In film or a piece of writing, though, they're silent characters with souls of their own. I love the smoky exhalation, the expectant inhale. I'm amazed at those white tendrils, reaching skyward, or the plume expelled into a face by an antagonist. I love the words and images surrounding smoking. We can twist the act any way we want. Build suspense. Create tension, or relieve it. Even find humor in the weakness of the addiction. Let me see your spin on it.