Whenever older folks tell me they want to return to what the U.S. was like I think about the times I had to ask for a non-smoking table only to wait an extra 10 minutes just to sit somewhere where I could still smell the sweet aroma of stale cigarettes like a pound of ash that was fermented with moldy potatoes being stuffed up my nostrils.

I remember siting down at fast food restaurants and playing with the little free matchbook sitting in the ashtray.

(Playing meaning reading it and looking at it, I would have been throttled right there if I tried to light one of the matches.)

Oh the good old days, where the doctor telling my dad to stop smoking while he’s smoking 😅

Hotel ones with hotel ice buckets, too.

Those little tin Burger King ones were peak.