Smoking
Reed and I were rocking down Pearl Street here in bTown the other day. We ran into people we knew, and watched the wonder that was the Boulder Pride Festival. We saw a woman with a painted on beard. And I don’t think it was a professional job. We saw some people dressed as native americans, but honestly one mans red hair was somewhat telling as to his true heritage. We slowly trekked east towards a rumbling in the distance that proved to be a breakdance demonstration. My goodness was I transfixed by the fluidness that was in front of me, by the sheer delightment that shone on each of the dancers faces. I was in awe. Utter awe. And then some jackass lit up a cigarette right next to me.
Really? Four o’clock on Sunday, in the middle of a crowd on Pearl Street and you have to light up? You gotta kill yourself and kill a little of me too? Smokers make me sick. My stomach turns; both sorrow and anger fill me. I could have punched that guy, but then I’d be at his level, hurting others, hurting myself. Although I suspect I wouldn’t have been quite as addicted to punching as he was to that deathtrap in his mouth.
Ya, I could write about such morons forever. But there are a few things that I think when I see someone smoking, and I’ll leave it at that.
1. You are killing your lungs, in other words, yourself.
2. You are killing those around you.
3. You smell.
4. Your teeth aren’t liking it either.
5. This.
6. And just for kicks, see this movie.
Filed by ryanroth at September 17th, 2006 under Endurants