When I worked at a cigarette/lottery shop in Windsor, Ontario, there were a lot of characters.  It wasn’t the nicest part of town, and there were a lot of people on welfare or otherwise had pretty tough lives.  Here’s a transcript of an actual conversation I had with one man:

“I’m losing the tips of my fingers… you know how that happened?”

“No.”

“From puttin’ out cigarettes.”

“Why don’t you use an ashtray?”

“What for?  Why bother, when you’re already psychotic?”

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