If I have to go through the rest of my life with the stench of cigarette smoke in my nostrils, I may have to rethink how much older I want to get. Or else take up smoking, because why the hell not at this point. Literally everywhere I go smells like cigarette ashes. Imagine eating a satisfying dinner with a snoot full of old cigarette butts. You can’t do it, can you? Neither can I. Between that and listening to the constant shriek of tinnitus, I’m coming close to having a medical syndrome named after me.