Today I decided to gorge my already lardy self on a bag of salty potato chips soaked in hexane-containing sunflower oil. Then a man sat down to my right and started smoking, and the wind blew most of his smoke right into my face, which I found infuriating enough to get up and walk on the order of a hundred brisk steps, with my jacket and my backpack hanging awkwardly from my greasy hands, till I found another seat with no smokers nearby.
I wonder how likely a smoker is to take offence at my behavior. At the very least, he must've judged me as a huge hypocrite, since I made such a big show of not wanting him to fill my lungs with tar, all the while blatantly showing I can't possibly care that much about my health, given how I can't be bothered to watch my weight, my cholesterol or the assorted poisons I ingest. What I'm pretty sure he didn't give a f**k about is that 1) eating the chips was my choice, while inhaling his smoke was not, and 2) I enjoyed the former, while the latter was very unpleasant to me, though, of course, he'd probably regard my distress as merely a pathetic, self-righteous act.
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The red lake has been forgotten. A dust devil stuns you long enough to shroud forever those last shards of wisdom. The breeze rocking this forlorn wasteland whispers in your ears, “Não resta mais que uma sombra”.