To my friend the smoker...

There's really no need to explain why you are slowly killing yourself.

After all, we've all been there; when you have those really bad days that just make you want to numb the pain by inhaling tar and a variety of other strange substances.

Then again, the rest of us have moved on.

We discovered alcohol and hugs and other things that made us feel better.

I'm sorry you didn't.

But my pity is limited.

For example, it does not extend to an allowance for making my hair stink every time I'm with you. Or having you accountable for an extra laundry load because all my clothes smell of that horribly acrid stench. Not to mention all that second hand smoke you so kindly share with me.

Those are the mere details.

The real problem I have with the whole situation is, I HATE smoke.

It was fun hanging out with you while it lasted, but I'm afraid that while you continue to slowly introduce your lungs to the possibility of cancer, I'm choosing to... not.