He lit a cigarette and handed it to me. I inhaled. Coughed. Wheezed. Gasped for breath. Coughed again. Considered vomiting. Grabbed the swinging bench, head spinning, and threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped on it, convinced my Great Perhaps did not involve cigarettes.
If I had not smoked I should have been dead ten years ago.
There was a young lady named Mae Who smoked without stopping all day; As pack followed pack, Her lungs first turned black, And eventually rotted away.
Both of my grandparents died of lung cancer. So I got quite a lesson in the payback later in life of smoking, and if you keep it up how bad it can be.
If I had taken my doctor's advice and quit smoking when he advised me to, I wouldn't have lived to go to his funeral.
I miss smoking (two to four packs a day) but I don't miss the crackle in my lungs when I breathed.
I began my addiction when I was 12 years old. By the time 40, 45 years later, when it, you know, it threatened my life and maimed me in terms of my voice, I was so addicted that I was smoking four packs of cigarettes a day.
I don't want to have a bad influence on anybody, but there's no point in my giving up cigarettes now. I won't die young.
