The little old lady next door, the quiet one who never makes any trouble (though there is regular banging on the adjoining wall when she or someone assisting her puts up pictures or hooks or something) was sitting in her smoking chair enjoying a fat, stinky cigar.
I haven't smelled the smoke from a cigar in four years. It brings back memories that I can giggle over, now, but at the time they were sufficiently upsetting. My obnoxious ex BJ used to smoke cigars (I think?), and our Elder Roommate in the Bachelor Apartment from Hell did. I would sit there with eyes watering and nose clogging, having to put up with their bloody indoor windows-closed smoking unless I started coughing. If I started coughing and couldn't stop, they'd open up a window or something.
Once that happened when I was asleep. BJ told me, when I finally did wake up, that I'd been coughing in my sleep for about 20 minutes, and he was getting worried.
