Behind the sunglasses and smokescreen

That's me, behind the sunglasses, cigarette in hand.


I probably smoke because it's politically incorrect,
and considering all the heinous atrocities in the
world, I find it astounding that many treat smokers
like domestic terrorists, or worse...

Smokers, like me, make others feel superior.
Tonight, while buying an entire carton of the
despised sticks, I watched the man behind me,
with three different forms of the anti-smoking
crutch, Nicorette. He flinched when I requested
a carton of Marlboro Mediums.

I wondered if he was in the throes of agonizing
yearning, while I flaunted my liberty, in such a
cruel way? Then again, many ex-smokers act very
judgmentally, directing their misery at those of
us who haven't abandoned our habits, or conformed
to the current intolerance towards smokers.

Many ex-smokers become fanatics. Some believe they
are unable to tolerate smoke, and after smoking for
decades, themselves, believe they are made ill with
someone else's smoke, far away...

With the world imploding, it seems like a small thing
to try and tolerate a smoker, as long as they don't pollute
the pristeen, smoke-free indoors. We are asked to accept
a multitude of unhealthy situations, in our crowded, modern
world, yet, smokers have become the popular pariahs,
close in rank to child molesters, and cannibals.

I feel like I make small contributions to other people's
lives, by giving them an object of derision. Sneering at
me may bring them a release. Perhaps, it makes them
feel morally more sturdy. By projecting their hate towards
smokers, like me, they may be nicer to their families,
co-workers, and other strangers, as long as they don't smoke.

They can feel strong, because, wretches like me, are so weak.
I believe in acts of random kindness. What would Jesus do?