Cancer sticks

Since I had an uneventful day with very few photo opportunities, here's a picture of my dad's cigarette butts.

I can't believe I smelled like an ashtray until I moved out of my mom's house at 18. Now I can't get a whiff of that stuff without throwing up a little in my mouth. Living at my dad's has helped me become a little more tolerant of cigarettes, but I hate knowing that my lungs are getting blacker and blacker by the minute.