Dear Smoking Man,*
Hello, remember me? I actually ate dinner at your house about 5 years ago with my then-boyfriend. And about a month and a half ago I served you a drink. I thought about reminding you of that long-past meal we shared but decided that perhaps that would be too much. It was only that one time, after all, and I don’t even remember your name, your wife’s name, or the undoubtedly pleasant, yet slightly bizarre, dinner conversation.
Here we are now, another chance encounter. You walking, in a light trench coat, me running up to the park. You smoking your cigarette, me breathing in air too cold for mid-March. The fact that you smoke doesn’t bother me, it’s your right and besides, it can’t be any worse for me than the exhaust fumes I suck into my lungs mile after mile. You take one final drag and, as I approach, you fling your cigarette to the right using your thumb and forefinger as a sort of butt-launcher, missing my by inches.
I imagine you are someone who does not simply discard his empty coffee cups on the side of the road rather than wait for the appearance of a trash can. I think it likely that you bring your own reusable bags to the supermarket. Maybe I’ve got you all wrong but, I have to ask, why is it that people who are otherwise responsible inhabitants of an overly shared space feel it is okay to drop their cigarette butts on the ground? Why is this one form of litter still acceptable? But even more importantly than that, can you do us all a favor and at least look before you flick a still burning object through the air? Because, you know, I don’t care if you smoke, I don’t mind breathing the smoke in, but I don’t really care to be burned by your cigarette.
I’m glad we had this little chat, Smoking Man. And, honestly, it was lovely seeing you again. Maybe next time I will even say hello.
To future encounters
Rebekah
*The one smoking on Seventh Avenue in Brooklyn, not the creepy one from The X-Files. By the way did I ever tell you guys I have limited edition Mulder and Skully Barbie and Ken dolls? Well, I do. But I won’t tell you where they live for fear you will try and steal them.
franklyrebekah 