香菸有害，但我懷念它們¶
文章資訊
作者：John DeVore 日期：2026-06-09
原文標題：Cigarettes are bad. I miss them.
Medium 原連結：https://johndevore.medium.com/cigarettes-are-bad-i-miss-them-3e00ad67018b
📝 重點摘要¶
TL;DR¶
作者戒菸十年仍深深懷念，以散文回顧香菸交織的人生記憶。
核心問題¶
這不是研究論文，而是一篇個人散文。作者試圖誠實面對一個矛盾：明知香菸是「惡毒的破壞性成癮」、會致命（他親眼見證父親死於癌症），卻仍真心懷念每一根菸所承載的時刻與情感連結。
關鍵發現 / 數據¶
- 作者已戒菸超過 10 年。
- 第一根菸是薄荷菸（Newport「The Flavor」），味道像菸灰混牙膏。
- 沒有比一包 Camels 更有效的減肥法——他常以抽菸取代午餐。
- 記錄了多個生死時刻的菸：化療室外、得知她心臟病過世、勸酒精性肝硬化的朋友戒酒未果。
- 文末以一根沾口紅的 Virginia Slims 菸蒂，串起 Pete、其母、工地電工朋友與其女友等多人交織的人生。
方法亮點¶
- 記憶與菸的綁定敘事：每根菸對應一段具體場景，以感官細節（味道、氣味、觸感）喚起情感。
- 靈魂轉移的魔幻寫實：借「抽別人菸蒂會吸收其記憶」的迷信，讓視角在陌生人間流轉接力。
- 首尾呼應的循環結構：菸蒂從一人傳到另一人，最後回到街頭乞者撿菸，形成閉環。
對我的研究有用嗎？¶
幾乎無直接技術關聯——這是文學散文，非 LLM / GraphRAG 主題。唯一可借喻處：文中「記憶在人物間以菸蒂為節點傳遞、串連成網」的結構，恰似知識圖譜中以共享實體連結節點、沿邊遍歷傳播的概念，可作為向非技術讀者解釋 graph traversal 的生動比喻。
評語¶
文筆極佳、情感真摯的個人散文，值得當作寫作範本一讀；但與研究無關，無數據可疑問題，純屬休閒閱讀。
🌐 中英對照¶
Author: John DeVore
Published:
Source: https://johndevore.medium.com/cigarettes-are-bad-i-miss-them-3e00ad67018b
Fetched: 2026-06-09T00:51:59.141955
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100% HUMAN-GENERATED CONTENT / 100% 由人類撰寫的內容¶
Cigarettes are bad. I miss them. / 香菸是壞東西。我想念它們。¶
Don't start smoking, kids / 別開始抽菸，孩子們¶
I have not had a smoke in over ten years, but if I sit quietly, alone, and focus on my breathing — inhaling and exhaling deeply, intentionally — I can remember all of the most important cigarettes of my life.
我已經超過十年沒抽過一根菸了，但如果我獨自一人安靜地坐著，專注於自己的呼吸——刻意地深深吸氣、吐氣——我就能想起這輩子所有最重要的那些香菸。
There comes a time when memories and fantasy become the same thing, and the older I get, the more I wonder if what I did in the past ever really happened. But I smoked, I did, I know it as a fact, and I think I loved every single cigarette I lit, or at least, that's how I feel about it right now.
總有一天，回憶與幻想會變成同一件事，而我年紀越大，就越懷疑自己過去做過的事情是否真的發生過。但我抽過菸，我確實抽過，這是我知道的事實，而且我想我愛過我點燃的每一根香菸，或者至少，此刻我是這麼覺得的。
I don't want to come off as irresponsible, so here it is: do not start smoking if you can help. That's the best advice I have.
我不想顯得不負責任，所以我把話講清楚：能不抽就別開始抽菸。這是我能給的最好建議。
I remember the first time the nicotine hit my bloodstream; it turned me on like a neon sign. My first cigarette was a menthol, and I can still taste it — a mix of ash and toothpaste. A pack of Newports saved my life once, or that's the story I tell. He wanted my money; it was a half-hearted mugging after the bars closed in Richmond. When he saw that I had a half-full pack of Newports, he praised me for smoking "The Flavor." And he took them.
我記得尼古丁 (nicotine) 第一次進入我血液的那一刻；它像霓虹燈一樣點亮了我。我的第一根菸是薄荷菸，我到現在還嚐得到那味道——菸灰與牙膏的混合。有一次一包紐波特 (Newports) 救了我的命，至少我都是這麼說的。他想要我的錢；那是里奇蒙 (Richmond) 酒吧打烊後一場半吊子的搶劫。當他看到我有半包紐波特時，他誇我抽的是「那個味道 (The Flavor)」。然後他把菸拿走了。
I remember my roommate and I paying for a pizza with crumpled singles and quarters, and the cigarette we smoked after that meal, having not eaten the day before, was delicious, bitter, loamy, and spicy from the pepperoni. The first smoke after waking up is a rush, and so is the one you smoke during your first break, outside, smoldering in the fresh air. I would smoke through my lunch hours, too, because there is no diet as effective as a pack of Camels.
我記得我和室友用皺巴巴的一塊鈔票和兩毛五硬幣付了一個披薩的錢，而前一天沒吃東西、吃完那頓飯後抽的那根菸，美味、苦澀、帶著泥土味，還因為臘腸而有股辛辣。睡醒後的第一根菸是一陣快感，第一次休息時在戶外、在新鮮空氣裡悶燒的那根也是。我午餐時間也會一直抽菸，因為沒有任何節食法比一包駱駝 (Camels) 更有效。
Some cigarettes feel good; they hollow you out and fill you up, and those memories, vivid and intense, can rival past sexual experiences. Others are the perfect cure for loneliness, just me, at home, too broke to go out, too broken to love anyone, much less myself, lying in bed, in my tiny one-bedroom on the fourth floor of a walk-up, with an ashtray on my belly, listening to the family next door laugh and shout and bicker while loud, joyful music plays.
有些菸感覺很好；它們把你掏空，又把你填滿，而那些回憶，鮮明而強烈，足以與過往的性經驗匹敵。另一些菸則是孤獨的完美解藥，只有我，在家裡，窮到出不了門，破碎到無法愛任何人，更別說愛我自己，躺在床上，在我那無電梯公寓四樓的小套房裡，肚子上擺著菸灰缸，聽著隔壁那家人在響亮、歡快的音樂聲中歡笑、吼叫、拌嘴。
I used to enjoy a smoke in front of my bathroom mirror, every so often, because I thought I looked pretty cool, squinting and puckering and pinching a coffin nail. There was a time when I'd refer to cigarettes as coffin nails because, as I already outlined, I was cool as hell.
我以前偶爾會喜歡站在浴室鏡子前抽菸，因為我覺得自己看起來挺帥的，瞇著眼、噘著嘴、夾著一根「棺材釘 (coffin nail)」。曾有一段時間我會把香菸叫做棺材釘，因為，如我前面所述，我酷斃了。
There were cigarettes that helped me float above my fears, and ones that burned during long, dark, cold seasons. I was never warmed by a cigarette, but plenty of them dulled the brightest pains. There was the cigarette I lit with trembling hands outside the clinic waiting for the chemo to finish draining into him and the one I lit when I got the news over the phone that she had died of a heart attack, and the cigarette I sucked on after I couldn't convince my friend, a clown, a hero, someone I looked up to, that if he didn't stop drinking the cirrhosis was going to kill him faster than it already was.
有些香菸幫我飄浮在恐懼之上，有些則在漫長、黑暗、寒冷的季節裡燃燒。香菸從未讓我感到溫暖，但許多根菸鈍化了最刺眼的痛楚。有那根我在診所外用顫抖的雙手點燃的菸，等著化療 (chemo) 滴完流進他體內；有那根我在電話裡得知她死於心臟病發作時點燃的菸；還有那根我在無法說服我的朋友——一個小丑、一個英雄、一個我仰望的人——若他不戒酒，肝硬化 (cirrhosis) 會比現在更快奪走他性命之後，所吸著的菸。
They say that your life flashes before your eyes before you die, and while I hope to see the faces of my family and friends before oblivion, I confess there would be worse moments to relive than every cigarette I've ever bummed, sucked on, and stubbed out. They are a maliciously destructive addiction. And I miss them.
人們說在死前你的一生會在眼前閃過，雖然我希望在遁入虛無之前能看見家人和朋友的臉，但我承認，比起重溫我這輩子討來的、吸過的、捻熄的每一根菸，還有更糟的時刻值得重活一遍。它們是一種惡毒而具毀滅性的癮。而我想念它們。
Smokers, and I mean real smokers, not "oh my god I'm tipsy can I steal one?" smokers, are superstitious and tend to believe in silly things, like lucky cigarettes. For years, the first thing I did after aggressively tapping a pack of newly opened cigarettes against the back of my hand in order to make the tobacco tighter — the theory went that this made each cigarette burn slower — was to turn one cigarette upside down, and there you go, a lucky cigarette. I also made sure never to light three smokes on one match, back when I carried matchbooks from restaurants, because it was bad juju: as I heard it, soldiers in the trenches who lit three cigs on one match made it easy for an enemy sniper to ready, aim, and… bang.
抽菸的人，我是說真正抽菸的人，不是那種「我的天啊我有點醉了能偷一根嗎？」的人，他們迷信，傾向於相信一些蠢事，比如幸運菸。多年來，我打開一包新菸、用力把菸往手背上敲（為了讓菸草更緊實——理論說這能讓每根菸燒得更慢），之後做的第一件事，就是把其中一根菸倒過來放，這樣一來，就有了一根幸運菸。我還會確保絕不用一根火柴點三根菸——那是我還帶著從餐廳拿來的紙板火柴的年代——因為那是壞兆頭：我聽說，戰壕裡的士兵若用一根火柴點三根菸，敵方狙擊手就能輕鬆地預備、瞄準，然後……砰。
The most outrageous magical thinking, of course, was a belief that smoking didn't really cause cancer. I know that's true; I saw it, up close. My old man loved his cigars.
當然，最離譜的魔法式思維，是相信抽菸並不真的會致癌。我知道那是真的（會致癌的）；我親眼見過，近距離地。我老爸愛他的雪茄。
There is a ghost slouched on a stool in every bar, and I remember one time, late one night, long ago, when an old man sat next to me at a local pub and shared a wacky theory I had never heard before that no one should ever smoke a butt that someone else had smoked because then you'll absorb their memories or their soul or something like that.
每家酒吧裡都有一個鬼魂癱坐在高腳凳上，我記得很久以前的一個深夜，一位老人在當地一家小酒館坐到我旁邊，分享了一個我從沒聽過的古怪理論：沒有人應該去抽別人抽過的菸蒂，因為那樣你會吸收他們的記憶或靈魂之類的東西。
He talked to me because no one else was talking to me, but no one was talking to him, either. This wasn't a place for small talk; it was just somewhere that wasn't home, the kind of bar where there were two games you could play: darts, but you had to bring your own, and you could also piss on the ice cubes in the urinal, which might not sound like fun, but when you're good and fucked up, it's immensely satisfying.
他跟我說話，是因為沒人跟我說話，但也沒人跟他說話。這不是個閒聊的地方；它只是個不是家的地方，那種酒吧裡有兩種遊戲可以玩：射飛鏢，但你得自己帶；你也可以對著小便斗裡的冰塊撒尿，這聽起來可能不怎麼有趣，但當你喝得爛醉如泥時，那感覺爽快無比。
He didn't even turn to me; he just sat in the gloom, drinking a beer, fiddling with a half-bent cigarette, and apropos of nothing, he just warned me against smoking a cigarette someone else didn't finish, and I nodded in agreement. It's best to be polite in such situations.
他甚至沒轉向我；他就坐在昏暗中，喝著啤酒，擺弄著一根折了一半的菸，然後毫無來由地，他只是警告我別去抽別人沒抽完的菸，而我點頭表示同意。在那種場合最好還是禮貌一點。
A few minutes later, after I'd returned to my thoughts and the last few swallows of my drink, he caught my attention by flicking his thumb up and down, the universal sign for "got a light?" I didn't ignore him. I pretended I didn't see him, which isn't the same thing as ignoring him. I just stared ahead, and maybe an hour later, I had run out of money, and the only person I knew was at the end of the bar, and I owed him a beer and a shot from the previous evening. I did not make eye contact with him as I shuffled past, and then outside, where I was, luckily, blessedly, drunk and pleased to be drunk, and I didn't care that I was tapped out until I realized I had no cigarettes.
幾分鐘後，當我回到自己的思緒和杯中最後幾口酒時，他用拇指上下彈動來引起我的注意，那是「有火嗎？」的通用手勢。我沒有無視他。我假裝沒看到他，這跟無視他不是同一回事。我只是直直望著前方，大概一小時後，我的錢花光了，而我認識的唯一一個人在吧檯另一頭，我還欠他前一晚一杯啤酒和一杯烈酒。我拖著腳步走過他時沒有與他四目相接，然後走到了外面，幸運地、蒙福地，我醉了，並且樂於沉醉，我並不在乎自己身無分文——直到我意識到我沒有菸了。
So I did what any man with a stomach full of bottom-shelf vodka would do, and I slowly teetered backward until I fell, slowly, on my ass, right on the filthy sidewalk, out of breath, and I didn't care if I looked like a vagrant, so I got comfortable. I stretched my wobbly legs out and leaned against the cool brick of the bar, next to a bucket of sand, and in the sand, rising like Excalibur from the stone was a single, skinny, Virginia Slims cigarette with a hint of red lipstick on the butt.
於是我做了任何一個肚子裡裝滿廉價伏特加的人都會做的事，我慢慢地向後搖晃，直到緩緩地一屁股跌坐在地，就坐在骯髒的人行道上，喘不過氣，我不在乎自己看起來像個流浪漢，索性讓自己舒服點。我伸出搖搖晃晃的雙腿，靠在酒吧冰涼的磚牆上，旁邊有一桶沙，而在沙裡，像石中劍 (Excalibur) 一樣豎立著的，是一根細瘦、孤單的維珍妮 (Virginia Slims) 香菸，菸蒂上沾著一抹紅色唇膏。
I immediately recalled the old man's warning, and I said "fuck off" to no one and grabbed the perfect white cigarette and lit it with a cheap plastic lighter I had in my pocket, and immediately I knew it belonged to an elderly woman, someone's mom, Pete's, a stout construction worker who loved to talk, a real sweetheart, funny, a ball buster, he'd always slap me on the back and give me free toots of blow in the bathroom, and he lived with his mom, who drank at this same bar. I forgot her name. I forget names.
我立刻想起了那老人的警告，我對著空氣說了句「滾蛋」，抓起那根完美的白色香菸，用口袋裡一個廉價的塑膠打火機點燃，而我立刻就知道它屬於一位年長的女人，某人的母親，皮特 (Pete) 的母親，皮特是個結實的建築工人，愛說話，是個真正的好人，風趣，愛開玩笑捉弄人，他總會拍拍我的背，在廁所裡免費讓我吸幾口可卡因，他和他母親住在一起，他母親也在這同一家酒吧喝酒。我忘了她的名字。我總是記不住名字。
She wore red lipstick, and her skin hung off her skull like silk. And her memories became mine, and I was sitting with her in the narrow rowhouse where she lived with her husband and raised Pete, and where he still lived, a man in his thirties, a house where the curtains hadn't been opened since his father's death, in the bathtub, a grown man just floating there naked when she found him.
她塗著紅色唇膏，皮膚像絲綢般從顱骨上垂掛下來。而她的記憶變成了我的，我和她一起坐在那棟狹窄的連棟房屋裡，她曾和丈夫在這裡生活、把皮特養大，而皮特如今仍住在這裡，一個三十多歲的男人，這棟房子的窗簾自他父親去世後就再也沒拉開過——他父親死在浴缸裡，當她發現他時，這個成年男人就那樣赤裸著漂浮在水中。
Their living room ashtray overflowed with cigarettes dangling over the edges like a dead spider on its back. They smoked each other's cigarettes, indiscriminately, whatever was close; he'd pull a Virginia Slims out of her pack, and she'd come across his Pall Malls while cleaning and shrug to herself, "What the hell?"
他們客廳的菸灰缸滿溢出來，菸蒂懸在邊緣，像隻仰躺著的死蜘蛛。他們不分彼此地抽著對方的菸，手邊有什麼就抽什麼；他會從她的菸盒裡抽出一根維珍妮，而她打掃時偶然發現他的好彩 (Pall Malls)，便對自己聳聳肩，「管它的？」
Pete had a friend at his work site, in Manhattan, a new apartment high-rise, and this guy he'd known for years, from multiple projects, a Black dude who always told him to be patient with his mom, she's the only one he's got, whenever Pete would vent about the old woman, who could be mean and angry when soused. Pete didn't want to hear it, but he appreciated it; at least someone cared about him and his mom.
皮特在他的工地上有個朋友，工地在曼哈頓 (Manhattan)，是一棟新的公寓高樓，這傢伙他認識多年了，一起做過好幾個工程，一個黑人兄弟，每當皮特抱怨他那位喝醉時會變得刻薄又暴躁的老母親時，這人總是叫他對母親要有耐心，她是他唯一的親人了。皮特不想聽這些，但他心存感激；至少有人在乎他和他的母親。
I met him once or twice. Pete's friend. He liked Nine Inch Nails, and I did too; we were the only ones at that bar in Queens who did. He was an electrician. He and Pete didn't work side-by-side but they'd sometimes share a quick smoke after lunch, pass it back and forth like a joint, and there were times he'd watch Pete puff away on their smoke until it was mostly filter and he'd think how it reminded him of his girlfriend, who he loved, a waiter and graphic designer who he met at a house party right after a break-up, right after promising himself he would never move in with another woman again and that promise did not last.
我見過他一兩次。皮特的朋友。他喜歡九寸釘樂團 (Nine Inch Nails)，我也喜歡；在皇后區 (Queens) 那家酒吧裡只有我們倆喜歡。他是個電工。他和皮特不是並肩工作，但午餐後他們有時會一起快速抽根菸，像抽大麻菸一樣傳來傳去，有時他會看著皮特把他們共抽的那根菸吸到幾乎只剩濾嘴，他會想到這讓他想起他的女朋友，他愛的人，一個服務生兼平面設計師，他在一場家庭派對上認識她，那時他剛分手，剛對自己發誓再也不會和另一個女人同居——而那個誓言並沒能維持多久。
She self-published a few issues of a zine. She showed me one: stapled, Xeroxed, covered in doodles, cartoons, and rules for survival in New York City. One of those rules was never to stop giving a stranger a smoke, no matter how pathetically he begs, or if he's cute, especially.
她自費出版過幾期同人誌 (zine)。她給我看過一本：用釘書機裝訂、影印的，上面滿是塗鴉、漫畫，以及在紐約市生存的法則。其中一條法則是：永遠不要拒絕給陌生人一根菸，無論他乞求得多麼可憐，或者如果他長得帥，那就更不要拒絕。
They'd also share a cigarette after fucking, or in the morning, while she sat on the can and he plucked nose hairs; they'd make a Marlboro Light last between them, but she rarely finished a cigarette on her own. They had a fight once, because there wasn't enough money, and he yelled, "Why do you buy cigarettes? You never finish them," and she screamed something like, "I will do what I want!"
他們也會在做愛後分一根菸，或者在早晨，當她坐在馬桶上、他拔鼻毛時；他們會讓一根萬寶路淡菸 (Marlboro Light) 兩人輪流抽到最後，但她很少自己抽完一整根菸。他們吵過一次架，因為錢不夠，他吼道：「你幹嘛買菸？你從來抽不完，」而她尖叫著類似這樣的話：「我想做什麼就做什麼！」
She did of course, she always did, and before her shift at a fancy bistro nearby, in the alley that runs behind the kitchen door, one day, before brunch, the worst shift, she took a few shallow drags off a cigarette and flicked it on the ground and it burned out, and there it sat all day, and into the night, until a man, a hungry man, a man with nothing, a man on all fours, found it lying on the concrete, near bags of trash, her barely smoked cigarette, and he straightened it out, and stood up, and staggered away, looking for a light.
她當然這麼做了，她總是這麼做，而某一天，在她到附近一家高級小酒館上班之前，在廚房後門那條巷子裡，早午餐班開始前——最糟的班次——她淺淺地吸了幾口菸，把它彈到地上，菸就熄滅了，它在那裡躺了一整天，一直到夜裡，直到一個男人，一個飢餓的男人，一個一無所有的男人，一個四肢趴地的男人，在水泥地上、垃圾袋旁，發現了它——她那根幾乎沒抽過的菸——他把它弄直，站起身，踉蹌著走開，去尋找火。
Hello, Medium. I just launched Advice For Men, a newsletter of funny/sad essays about masculinity, mental health, addiction, loneliness, and BBQ (because why not). Curious? Subscribe!
哈囉，Medium。 我剛推出了 Advice For Men，這是一份電子報，收錄關於男子氣概、心理健康、成癮、孤獨，以及烤肉（為什麼不呢）的搞笑／傷感散文。有興趣嗎？訂閱吧！
🔤 關鍵術語¶
這篇文章是一篇關於抽菸的個人回憶散文，內容完全沒有出現任何技術術語（沒有 LLM、知識圖譜、RAG 或任何 technical terms）。因此無法依照挑選原則產出對照表。
文中出現的專有名詞都是香菸品牌或文化詞彙（Newports、Camels、Marlboro Light、Pall Malls、Virginia Slims、Nine Inch Nails 等），屬於一般名詞，不符合「技術術語」標準。
如果你是想針對另一個檔案或文章（例如關於 GraphRAG 的技術文章）做術語整理，請把正確的內容貼給我，我再幫你產出表格。