As the deep inhale takes hold of Vito's lungs - the smoke appears from both his nose holes and mouth holes, the nicotine causing a numbing sensation throughout his mind and his hands start to stutter as he holds the half cindered cigarette. Sitting in a dark speak-easy - his gluttony swallows his whiskey glass whole, as the sting he once felt flows lucidly down his esophagus - settling as a base inside of his stomach. Vito turns the glass as he holds it in his hands and quietly inspects it as his tipsy buzzed eyes glance through the deep patterns that embroid it, taking another inhale.

As the quiet noise settles through the radio - and some of the glasses clinking from the bartender's quick cleaning, with a alcohol soaked rag, wiping the rim - Vito sits back as the cushioned chair makes him feel claustrophobic. 

His eyes open as the sun-shaft hits his eyes as the entrance to the establishment hits his eyes, the blood red vision through his eye lid causes his to squint as he fully accepts the migraine to come. The sounds of boxes being piled into the corner, men with flat-caps and boys a-like taking the devils juice deeper into the building, each step and each vocal vibration causes a strain that strikes Vito mentally - as the physical cramps from sleeping up-right takes their toll, his bones and joints crumble like the ash from his now fully exhausted cigarette. 

Attempting to lift himself up, his hand stutters from the already pains of withdrawal, causing his hands to falter, his grip loosens from the table - as his knee gives out, Vito ends up on one knee on the floor as a deep exasperated sigh leaps out of his chest as the smell of bile follows, with acid that burns his throat - he then realizes dried sick accompanies his suit and chin.