Giving up is always hard to do

The ring-pull had snapped off, and so it seemed, the ring-pull
always snapped off for Richard. He had just walked the, under a mile
journey to the convenience store, and bought the four pack of Guinness,
he had made it back home in double quick time, such was the nature of
his desire for alcohol, at this time. Not that he was an alcoholic, he
was, however, giving up smoking, again, and alcohol was the sometime
necessary replacement.

It was day three and while the nicotine replacement products got him
through work in a satisfactory manner, in the evening, he felt the need
for relief from the cravings, in a more substantial manner. Cravings,
that was a joke. Who had called them cravings, Richard didn't know, but
whoever it was, either had never smoked or had forgotten what kind of
hold smoking could get over you.

He went to the kitchen to get the big knife. Putting the can between
his feet he stabbed the top of the can with the knife. The knife stoved
in what was left of the ring pull and Richard looked at a job well
done. Then the widget kicked in and with a fizzy rumble the can started
spewing Guinness up into the air. All over the carpet, over the sofa,
on the coffee table, in the hearth, and over Richard.

When it had stopped, Richard lifted the can to his mouth, all that was
left was a small amount of froth in the bottom, cushioning the smugly
satisfied widget. Richard looked around at the mess, his neck was
sticky with already drying Guinness. The cream carpet had dark stains
all over it and the sofa had pools of alcohol in which the Cheerio his
girlfriend had dropped that morning swam contentedly.

That's it, he thought, I'm having a cigarette!