It wasn't the smoke but the smell of it that bothered me. I found it depressing: the scent of neglect. My room was clean and orderly, and if I'd had my way it would have smelled like an album jacket the moment you remove the plastic. That is to say, it would have smelled like anticipation.
David Sedaris, "Letting go" The New Yorker (enviat per Jaume Soler des de NY)