Book after book and magazine after magazine and link after link are explored to find tales of the quality found in this story here. It's called "The Smoker" by David Schickler, it comes from a collection of stories called "Kissing in Manhattan" (which I first picked up thinking it was an instruction manual, but that's neither here nor there.) Anyway, if you love yourself at all, you'll print this up, sit somewhere comfortable, and read it once or twice. It's got that certain something that makes literacy really worth it, and can be dismissed as either a piece of light entertainment or an examination of the horror of being able to possess that which you most desire (disciples of Kierkegaard are welcome to consider it lightly in relation to the Concept of Anxiety.) But seriously, dear reader, I love you, and I want you to be happy, so I want you to read this story. And if people want to discuss it in the comments section below, I think that'd be really great.
P.S. The rest of the stories from "Kissing in Manhattan" aren't worth bothering with.