“Marlboros,” I said to the old man behind the counter.
“What kine?” he said. “Da one wit’ da black, seeping lungs or da buggah who stay smoking through da hole in his neck?”
“The ‘Lites’,” I said. “The pack with the dead dude on it.”
The old man checked my ID, which was weird since I’m 84 years old, before forking over the pack of coffin nails appropriately decorated with a photo of some zombie in a coffin complete with coffin nails.
I lit my first cigarette of the day on the sidewalk, shielding it against the rain and sucked in a nice lungful of restorative smoke. Ah. Now all I needed was a cup of java.
I climbed into a taxi, coughing through a dense cloud of muffler exhaust. Man, I thought, they ought to put a picture of a dead guy on the side of cabs.
A day in the life after the health nazi's get their way.
Entertaining and funny,but also sad .