[Author’s note: I do not smoke — cigarettes or otherwise — nor have I ever. It is disgusting when my hair smells like an ashtray after standing next to people who smoke, and the cigarette butts that litter the entrance of my building are just as nasty. I also do not want to die of lung cancer.]
In this wonderful country of ours, I am guaranteed the right to the pursuit of happiness — and cigarettes make me happy. Given that I am a ripe 21-years-old, I should damn well be able to buy the cigarettes of my choice.