The smoking man

The smoking man rides my bus. I first encountered him late last week, waiting at the bus stop downtown. He was, of course, smoking, and got on the D. Not paying much attention, I sat down in the same end of the bus. As the cigarette smell began to make me ill, I looked up and realized it was the smoking man.

Yesterday, he was at the bus stop again, smoking. In the course of the eight minutes I waited for the bus, he smoked two cigarettes (as a non-smoker that seems impressive). I looked around, but no Mulder anywhere. Rats.

Even if he wasn’t on his way to a date with extraterrestrial espionage, I made sure to keep my distance this time so as not to tempt my cigarette smoke gag reflex again.

I don’t have anything against smokers, per se, except that they smoke, and I do not like smoking. It kills people, and smoking residuals inevitably make their way into non-smoking areas … like the bus.