An open letter to clandestine smokers on my trail

Sometimes I entertain fair-minded notions about poor smokers.  The unfortunate victims are being hemmed out from every side, persecuted like Salem witches.  On my campus, this has forced smokers to hide part-way down my trail, below prying eyes from the road, a regular Anne Frank hideaway.

I know this because, during the winter, they left big, round, yellow-stained tracks in the snow where they hopped from one cold foot to the other while they smoked.  I know this because I met one yesterday morning as I was arriving.  We chatted about the coming lawn-mowing season.  I know this because…

…they’re leaving their butts on my trail.  I guess they get thristy, too, poor things, because…

…they’re leaving beverage containers.

I know how hard life must be for you, dear smokers.  It must be terrible to see those “No Smoking” signs everywhere – 21st Century “Whites Only” signs.  I fully expect you to organize “Smoke-Ins” on public buses and in restaurants…where, of course, you’ll leave your butts on the floor and toss beverage cans in the corner.

My advice to you:  Get a Freakin’ Clue! Or at least a Freakin’ coffee can!  If you want any sympathy from me, stop leaving butts on my trail!

(Do I feel better?  Well, a little, but I’m pretty certain that butt-flipping smokers don’t read my blog.)

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