Smoker’s Cross
I was standing in front of the building where I worked, smoking a cigarette and ruminating bitterly over a recent memorandum announcing that soon the front of the building would become a smoke-free zone. It would be the latest conquest in a relentless march of smoke-free zones that had routed me from my office and chased me from the cafeteria and the restroom and, finally, booted me out through the big, glass entrance door to the portico at the front of the building, where I have routinely stood (several times a day), outcast and despised, along with a ragtag group of fellow practitioners,...
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