Billy was up to three packs a day, but it was okay; he was in training for the All-Tar Olympics.
His coach said he was a natural, and he had several lucrative endorsements even before he won any medals. He might have been worried about the nagging cough, the chunks of ochre phlegm he horked up after every set of smokes, but Billy was sanguine.
His twin brother, Jimmy, had a perfectly fine set of lungs just waiting to be cut out of his useless chest.
“If I ever find the bastard who stole my Zippo I’ll break his Legos.”