A Slice of Life And a Wisp of Smoke

Needless to say, despite supporting the health insurance of two middle class children with the proceeds from my addiction, I am still smoking. I have recovered sufficiently to forgo thundering "I hate the Democrat congress" every time I purchase a pack, probably due to the nice but also put upon convenience store clerk, who despite making minimum wage is also supporting the health insurance of aforesaid middle class children. Anyhow, she suggested the expedient of buying really cheap cigarettes, the kind that come in a little brown box, the kind I picture Camus' Meursault smoking in Algeria before they took them away when they put him in prison, the ones he missed so much.

I hear that quite a few of my fellow nicotine addicts have availed themselves of similar options. So there I am today on line at the convenience store when the woman in front of me inquires how much a pack of Doral is, only to be told 642 dollars. Her quip: "Oh, they've gone down." Ah ha, a like-minded individual, I think. Then as I leave, she is unlocking her car. I call out to her. She raises her head inquisitively. I holler, "Don't forget to vote," raising my stubby pack of cigarettes.

"Oh, I'll be there," she replies. I'd hazard that so will a goodly percentage of those who secretly and not so secretly resent the cavalier way this Democrat congress spends other people's money. It's never a good idea to annoy a quarter of the voting population from the get go. So if you happen to be on line at the convenience store when some unfortunate grumbles, be sure he or she knows who to thank.