April 10 - No Smoking

I was looking at the "no smoking while walking" sign and thinking about how stupid it was. Instead of a picture of somebody smoking a cigarette while walking, there was a picture of a walking cigarette, like a lit horizontal cigarette, with legs and a big red X over it. Completely retarded.
But then as if on cue, I turned around and there it was: A three-foot tall walking cigarette about as long as an ironing board. And it was lit.
I looked back at the sign and then again at the walking cigarette, and I could tell it sensed something was wrong even though it didn't have a face. It kind of paused mid-step and then shifted its direction to avoid walking toward me.
An elderly woman and a mother carrying her baby looked at me with pleading eyes that said do something. And I'm not usually the kind of guy who gets involved in stuff like that, but I don't know. Something took control of me.
"Hey! Come here!"
The cigarette quickened its gait.
"Stop! Come back here!"
It did neither, so I started going after it (him?). He broke into a run and so I did too.
You'd think it would be easy to catch a three-foot tall running--and smoking!--cigarette, but you'd be wrong. This cat was quick, plus the faster he ran the more he smoked and that made it really hard to run behind him. It was like chasing a garbage truck with a terrible exhaust system.
He ran down an alley that turned out to be a dead end. He got to the end of it and turned around to face me. His cherry was almost down to his filter, and his posture was hard to read. Defiant? Resigned? Taunting? He was in a desperate situation. Nothing to lose. I didn't have any sort of plan for how I would deal with him, but time was on my side. He would burn himself out soon. I just had to wait it out.
But then I started kind of feeling sorry for him. It wasn't his fault he was a walking cigarette. That's just how he came out. Maybe he was just like any other living creature on this earth, trying to make the most of his time while he was here. Maybe he had a wife somewhere. Children (cigarillos?). But that was unlikely because as far as I could tell, he didn't have any genitalia--another reason to feel bad for him. (Or to envy him in a way. I mean, if you think about it.)
And just as I was lost in thinking about him and his apparent lack of cigarette genitalia, he went out. Just like that.
I went over and stepped on him a couple times to make sure he was all the way out, but it was hard because I didn't want to hurt him but I also didn't want to not do a good enough job and then have him accidentally start a fire later on either. But no. He was out.
I picked him up, cradled him gently, and tucked him into a dumpster. Then I raised my fist to the sky in his memory, and continued on my way.