Cig Tossers

Ah, spring. Fresh, clean air. Crisp sunny mornings. Flowers blooming everywhere. There’s nothing like a morning walk this time of year to make you appreciate the corpse-like bouquet of a cigarette, abandoned and still burning on the sidewalk, flicked out of a car by someone who thinks that whole crying-Indian-anti-littering campaign in the 1970s doesn’t apply to them.

It’s not that I care if you smoke ’em. Not a problem. But here’s the thing: Cars are still equipped with ashtrays. What? You don’t want your car to smell like burning poop, or a hard-lived life staggering into its last hours? Then maybe you shouldn’t smoke while driving. The cliché rings true: The world is not your ashtray. Put it in your pocket. Tuck it in your shoe. Crush it out and deposit it in a trashcan when one becomes available. But don’t be a littery arsonist.

Suggested Next Read

Reason to Believe

Editor's Note

Reason to Believe

By Greg Blake Miller

On April 28, my grandmother, Lillian Dubin, turns 100. I have been blessed with a lifetime of her warmth, her stories, her example: kindness amid adversity, good humor in the face of time’s thousand slights, a gentle contentment that signifies not complacency but an appreciation of the long view. One day not long ago, we went out to the yard of her assisted-living facility and sat together beneath the noontime sun. Grandma looked upward, closed her eyes; her soft skin became luminous with the light, with delight.