What the hell is it with those people who stand in front of smokers, flapping their hands, coughing in a high-pitched and totally implausible manner?
WE ARE IN GLASGOW. IT IS COLD, WET, AND BLOWING A FUCKING GALE. I’LL BE FINE ‘COS MY LUNGS ARE USED TO IT, BUT GO INSIDE OUT OF THE RAIN YOU DELICATE LITTLE FLOWER.
How, exactly, am I disturbing you? Or is it the potential threat that I, one day, may drift past you with the smell of bonfires? I suppose that, if you follow the train of thought that leads from passive incurrance of a smoking related illness:
me smoking = you finding it neccessary to remonstrate by doing the Big Bird Dance + torrential rain = you with pneumonia.
Okay, I admit it: it’s all my fault. Including that horrific jacket that you mistook for a sartorial triumph.
Posted by biblocafe 