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I wish cigarette smokers would put themselves in my position. When I’m in a bar deliberately trying to destroy my liver, heart and numerous brain cells with overpriced alcohol, the last thing I need to worry about is the possibility of getting cancer. And when I’m in a restaurant trying to fill my arteries with fat-laden cheeseburgers and slices of cheesecake, all I ask is that I may do that in an environment that smells only like 3-day-old grease.
