The Marlboro Man

On my floor in my building there is one guy who still smokes. In his late 40s, he looks a little bit like Seinfeld's neighbor Newman -- both hair and shape-wise -- and drives a Mercury Marquis into our lot full of Prii and Minis. I recently saw him carrying a twelver of Tab out of his car. No slave to fashion he.

He indulges the evil weed (and I must admit I'm jealous) out on the open-air second floor staircase landing. A few weeks ago he plugged in a space heater and ran the cord out the door, presumably to keep his feetsies warm. He left the heater on, and the cord kept the door propped open. He did not persist in this habit for long, presumably being brought low by the spoken or silent pressure of his peers.

I am somehow inspired by this guy in his quixotic attempts to shrug off the norms of society. However, given his predilections, one suspects that his ride off into the sunset will not be slow.