On the Mattter of the Smokin’ Blonde
I saw a pretty woman on the train today. Actually, I see pretty women on the train nearly every day. The morning commute is good for that, though I mostly just read, listen to music, and mind my own business.
I see this one particular woman not every day, but frequently enough that I feel like I should say good morning. I mean, when you run into someone nearly every other day, it seems rude not to acknowledge their existence. Of course, these days, you can’t say hello to strangers without first sending them a trigger warning on Tinder, otherwise it’s assault. I kid. I don’t even know how a Tinder works.
This morning I noticed she had an open pack of Marlboro menthols on her lap. I’d never seen that before. Maybe she’s going through something or whatnot and such forth. I, myself, smoked for a long time. I quit over ten years ago. If you want to quit smoking, you can do it. It’s difficult and annoying at first, but totally doable. I don’t look down on anyone for smoking, because, obviously, I know what it’s like to be strung-out on butts, but menthols are a total turnoff. Seriously.