Those Things Will Kill You

So a man walks into a bar - and I swear this is true - and he says to the barman, he says: “Jack Daniels, rocks, large.” Then quickly he says, changing his mind: “Forget the rocks.” He downs it in one. “Again!” he says. And downs that in one. “Again!” Downs half, puts the glass on the little paper coaster, you know, one patterned like a snowflake. Barman says: “Tough day?” Man says: “Tough life.” Barman polishes a glass, holds it up, inspects it in the low-level light, polishes it some more. Man sighs, says in a quiet, low, deliberate voice: “I killed a man today.” Barman shrugs like he’s heard it all before. “Oh, yeah?” Man downs his Jack. “Another?” says the barman. The man nods – sips his drink when it arrives. The man takes out a pack of twenty, lights one up, drags long and deep, blows smoke at the ceiling. “Hey,” says the barman, “can’t do that in here. Didn’t you read the signs?” The man sighs, lets the cigarette dangle from his lips, speaks around it. “Funny, that’s what the bartender down the street said, a few minutes ago, just before I killed him.” The barman. without much thought, slides a cut crystal ashtray along the bar. “Knock yourself out,” he tells the man. The man flicks ash into the tray. The barman polishes a glass. The man drinks. And smokes. Which is indeed bad for one’s health…