I sit in the non-smoking section
of the restaurant. That's a laugh.
The smoke from your noxious
**** still finds me. It makes me ill.
I am going to ask you to extinguish
it, or else heave in your face. I'll
pursue the former but actually favor
the latter. I could just up and leave,
but that would be acceding victory
to the American Tobacco Industry-
and to you, the original Marlboro Man.
As politely as I am able, I walk over to
your table and ask you to put it out.
It's made me sick. You smirk and ask
me if I'm serious...the favored response
occurs.