Good morning my nicotine addicted friend. You’ve twenty-four hours ahead of you and absolutely no idea what you’re doing with them. Fortunately, someone has wrapped twenty questionable decisions inside a neat little cardboard packet. Lucky Stroke.
This is a remarkable product capable of emptying your wallet, staining your fingers, and teeth. Making your clothes smell like an old pub and convincing you that standing outside in freezing cold, rainy weather is a perfectly sensible pastime.
Remarkable, but recommended by absolutely no-one who earned a medical agree from the 2nd half of the 20th century onwards.
Doctors once appeared in cigarette advertisements and history has quietly agreed to pretend that never happened.
Observe the everyday smoker
Every pocket’s searched with growing panic.
The packet’s discovered in the hand they’ve been holding up for the last thirty seconds.
A fresh cigarette can be lit using the final millimetre of the previous one.
That’s efficiency.
By afternoon, the packet’s been folded, crushed, sat on and dropped at least twice. It’s survived rain, coffee, bad moods and one conversation that should have ended an hour ago.
Ash appears in places that defy science.
The car smells permanently of smoke.
Someone opens a window.
Someone else closes it.
That fresh air conflict continues for infinity.
Every smoker knows someone who says, “I’ll stop after this packet.”
The next packet arrives with astonishing punctuality.
The lungs submit a strongly worded letter of complaint.
The wallet waves a white flag.
The mirror starts asking difficult questions.
The logo remains as confident as ever with zero concerns. Displayed proudly on the packet alongside fire damaged lungs and tumours.
Perhaps confidence, and health warnings have always been the best marketing strategy?
Lucky stroke.
Converting your money into smoke, and cancer, since the 1800’s.
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