If any of my limited readership is still coming back to this lonely, peat-covered blog after my last post, you may not be after this one. So without further ado, we return to the topic of... cigarettes!
A few days ago I was hanging out in a cafe with some friends, rehearsing a presentation we would give to our Spanish Constitution class full of Spaniards the next day. Now nearly every cafe and bar in Spain worth its weight in beer has a handy cigarette machine in the corner. Patrons of all ages are welcome to come up, pop in a few euros and walk away, cig-in-mouth like a rock star.
So on this particular afternoon I happened to notice a man walk up to the machine with his five year old son leading the way. The man bent over and put a few coins in his son's hand as if to say, ''I know how you love using the cigarette machine! Have a blast!'' The little boy waddled giddily up to the machine and pushed the coins down the slot. Then he reached up, finger searching for the right tobacco insignia-adorned button. Losing his patience, the father grabbed the boy's hand and led it to the flavor he wanted. Push. Pop. Addiction.
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