When I am stumbling home from Tommy Nevin’s Pub on a Saturday night, I expect several things. Two of them are to be drunk and to have spent too much money. But there’s another: I expect to have to lock my clothes in a biohazard container because of the cigarette smoke that now permeates their very souls. Or whatever clothes have instead of souls.
Smoking ban restricts more than foul smell
October 12, 2003
More to Discover
