Smoking v1.2

Perhaps I'm a hypocrite.


As I type this, I'm enjoying a hand-made cigar. It is, well, enjoyable.

I still think it's different from cigarettes. I can see all of what I'm smoking.

There's no fiberglass, no amonium nitrate, nothing for an opportunistic tobacco company to hook me for life. If I did get hooked, I could probably walk down to The Sponge Docks and complain to the man who sold it to me.

I think what really pours sand down my shorts about smokers is the utter disregard for common courtesy -- something which my mother has always said I lack. But think of it for a moment. Almost every smoker I know feels that a smoke break is owed to him. He also has no problem throwing his burning refuse on the ground and dismissing it as biodegradable -- something which will naturally break down into base organic material. It isn't. Even if it were, I could easily make the argument that human feces is certainly biodegradable, but it would never occur to me that I could defecate on his front lawn or driveway or any old parking lot.

Worst of all, the smoker has no regard for my earthly to breathe clean air. In fact, he's put-off, arsed that I may ask him to not smoke near me or that he and his fellow smoking friends not congregate in front of every doorway I must walk through upon entering a public building.

So by now, I'm nearly done with this cigar, sitting on a dock at nearly one in the morning, away from just about any living soul.

I've even collected the ashes that fell. But I know that somehow, I'm still a hypocrite