"Sure! Tired, that's all. Helluva long day!"
"Yes. Well, you come in and see me tomorrow. We'll have us a little talk."
Rapidly, Chuck left the building. He muttered, "Like hell we will, Headshrinker!"
Furtively, he left the usual road home, and walked into a corner drugstore. He stood around with his hands in his pockets, until all the other customers cleared out.
"Puffies," he said.
The big man behind the counter tried to hitch his belt over his paunch. "Sure you know what you're doin', Bud? Have to take your number you know."
Chuck didn't answer. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and laid it palm up on the glass counter top. The man wrote down the id number and handed over the cigarettes.
Chuck walked on home, with the Puffies a guilty lump in his jacket pocket. He felt sure everybody he met knew what he was up to.
At home, Chuck stuck his head in the kitchen and said "Hi" to Sally. He resisted patting her. He went to the den and locked the door with trembling fingers, then sat at the desk and took out his knife. He cut off the realistic red nipples from all twenty cigarettes, and made a pyre of them in the middle of the glass top. Then he set fire to them, not minding the acrid smoke.
He put a cigarette to his lips. Still he hesitated, fearing the hallucinations, about which he had heard but never experienced.