Post by sandyf on Jan 9, 2005 20:13:34 GMT -5
Today I visited a friend in the hospital. As I was leaving I passed an old guy out a ways from the doors. He was hanging onto his I.V. pole with one hand and trying to hold up his p.j bottoms and smoke with the other hand in between bouts of a coughing jag that threatened to topple him over. His slippers were deep in the snow and he was cold, wet, desperate and embarassed. He wouldn't look at anyone, h is head was hung in shame. I could have cried. More and more I am noticing these type of incidents. Moments of lunacy that we, as smokers, engaged in. And each time I say a prayer for the poor junkie that he/she may see the light and say a prayer of gratitude that I am no longer a member of the club.
