P.S.A.

She walked by the designated trash can for the area, taking the last drag from her cigarette, shuffling her feet slowly forward, loathe to get back to work.  Then she dropped the spent butt on the ground and smashed it with her heel, carefully lifting her long skirt to make sure it didn’t get marred by the mess she was spreading on the concrete.  Satisfied that her leavings wouldn’t start a fire, there on the pavement, she let her skirt fall back into place and carried on with her slow steps, lamenting how quickly she had gone through the cigarette and how long it would be before she could taste its sweet release again.  Those two hours would be agony.  They always were.

I watched this unfold as I got my morning round of steps in.  And then I zipped by, avoiding eye contact and the confrontation that was welling up inside of me.  Not my place.  Not worth it.  But… the trash can… the one specifically designed to collect spent butts was right there.  She had to walk by it and she chose not to deposit her trash there but to drop it on the ground instead.  What is that?  Laziness?  Routine?  And why did it bother me so much?

Though, I know the answer to that one.  He has grown out of it but the littler prince used to collect cigarette butts he found on the ground and bring them to me as treasure…

Smoke them if you’ve got them.  Seriously, go for it.  Light them up.  Take those drags.  Enjoy the feel of the smoke, the taste, the high.  Please, please stop throwing your trash on the ground.

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9 thoughts on “P.S.A.

  1. Those butts thrown on the ground end up in our oceans, polluting the sea and the fish we eat, and in turn. Such a disgusting habit, that poisons all it touches, and even ones it doesn’t. If I were really rich I would buy an island and it would be non-smoking. ☺

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