Sometimes the mere act of buying cigarettes can place
a person in the wrong place at the wrong time.
...Thirty some years ago, I walked into a convenience
store to buy a pack of Marlboros one Saturday night.
Gunshots rang out in the parking lot- I hit the floor,
and hid behind a wall of chocolate. As the police
pulled up to the door, the clerk threw me the keys
and asked me to unlock it. When I did, the cops burst
in, grabbing me and pinning me onto the counter.
"He's not the guy!" the clerk exclaimed; and they
let go, kind of dusting me off as they went. Things
settled down; and the world returned to semi-normal.
But buying a pack of smokes would never be the same.
"You've just been shot at by the bad guys and roughed
up by the cops. Welcome to Marlboro Country!
Will that be regular... or menthol?"
excerpt from Romancing The Smoke: Reflections
of a Nicotine Addict by John Aaron
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