Once you come to grips with the situation and resign yourself to the fact you are indeed an outlaw, all the guilt disappears. It won't be long until we see TV ads explaining just how cigarette smokers are pandering to terrorist, still it will be good to come home from the bar and not have to leave my clothes outside from the smoke stench.
What bar? Certainly not one of those driven into extinction by your friends, the tobacco nazis. There is, however, a bright side -- when the social engineers who run your town decide that the inconvenience of public drunkenness calls for further Draconian restrictions on the remaining drinking establishments, the people who have to sit next to you on the subway won't have to put up with the smell of stale spirits. Won't that be nice?