Like a rat in a trap, snap, …crap, he was caught in the room and caught good, and would be in it for the long haul!
At first he thought he would choke to death, but the general mood of society was, "Be a man, you can take it!"
And they were right, as over time he became accustomed, started to like it, and he knew he was hooked, but that was good, everybody did it.
Some days he felt it unnecessary and even unpleasant, in fact, his displeasure was becoming quite the norm.
He felt himself getting older, older than he was, just like his cronies.
He noticed a lack of energy, but Jeez', I'm not Jack LaLane, and who are these goddam people, anyway?!?!
Even surgery only moderated his trips to the room, and even the fact that fewer and fewer people joined in, was not enough fix him.
Gradually, the room had become blackened, the walls, floor, wood, glass, everything.
Alone now, his 'gang' having all passed on years ago, he was almost 60.
In his small dark room, it was all he could do to gather one last miserable gasp for air, when he saw an almost imperceptible beam of light, as the Marlboro Man rode into the sunset.
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