The Smokers

I awoke this morning to the sound of tires sliding on wet pavement which was immediately followed by a dense 'thud!' and then an obnoxious car alarm. Curiously (and blindly) I peered out my window and then decided to investigate. I quickly put on my glasses, sweatshirt, and sandals and braved the chilly weather and neighbors in my favorite purple-flowered pajama pants. A very disappointed man stood by two parked cars on the street, both displaying fresh dents. He saw me and sheepishly asked if I knew whose car he had just hit. I was relieved to tell him it wasn't mine or my roommates and that I was sorry I couldn't help him identify the vehicle. My car was, however, parked on the street right across from the accident. I wish I could have helped him. Better yet, I wish I could hit the rewind button for him so he could be driving a little more slowly and attentively...

Through this incident, I struck up a conversation with my neighbors. He was smoking a cigarette and she was in her pajamas like me. This was my first interaction with them even though their cigarette smoke has wafted into our apartment on numerous occasions. My roommates and I endearingly refer to them as "The Smokers." As we gag in our living room and cough loudly and indiscreetly out the window, we joke about setting up a truth campaign outside their door with educational signs about the effects of secondhand smoke. I would rather smell cow manure than cigarette smoke.

They are not bad people, they are actually quite pleasant as I learned today. They just have a bad habit and bad lungs.