Rants & Essays
Death By Smoke
By Marcus Pan
They tell me I will die a younger man. That my vice will
take my life and snuff it out like the cigarettes I stamp out in the ashtray.
Because I smoke, I will die. Well, life is too short to stop and take the
so-called "scenic route". There is no way of knowing when I will die nor by
what means, therefore I will enjoy the short span of years given unto me to the
fullest and without regard to the many "health-heffers" to whom all is evil,
fell and deadly.
There are many ways to die and I could taste the steel
blade of death tomorrow for all I know or care. I could step out of my home,
bend over to pick up the morning paper and get plastered across my front lawn
into road pizza by an eighteen wheeler truck. Or I could be riding the subway
and some AIDS ridden schmuck could bite me. How does one know what will happen
the next morning? Your car brakes could fail and you can go barreling over a
cliff any day now. The air we breathe could kill you. With these possibilities
I will go through life enjoying a cigarette with my James-Dean-fuck-everybody
attitude because, as far as I can tell, smoking is the least of my worries.
Besides, I'm going to die anyway.
I'd rather live a short, full life than a long, boring
The above item may have been edited by the author
since its first appearance in Legends No. 21.