Paris Day 6: cough cough gag gag
Have now figured out why the French are so slim. While I have a croissant, macaroon, or other delicacy in my mouth, they have cigarettes shoved in theirs.
When I walk it is bad enough. But running - it's worse than having to deal with all the car exhaust. Go two steps. Try to hold breath. Release breath. Need to take new breath. Another smoker. Try not to inhale, but running and eventually will pass out unless I take a breath. They walk out the buildings with cigarettes already in hand, light immediately and puff. There are so many darling little cafe tables everywhere - even when it is raining they are sitting outside so they can puff. As they walk, they puff. As they talk, they puff. The air is filled with the putrid smell which to me equals cancer.
In years past, they could smoke inside. We would be in the restaurant and ask to sit on the non-fumiers side which would be on the other side of an invisible line from the fumiers side. Of course the smoke billowed over to us anyway. Now, there is generally no smoking inside so they hold it as along as they can bear. There is essentially no clear air in the heart of this city. I' m thankful that we have made such great strides in changing the culture of smoking in America.