My job occasionally requires me to hang out in the sort of fancy-pants nighclubs that spend good money on ginormous bouncers to keep people like me out. After a while, I started noticing something: Everyone was smoking. Like, everyone. So I wrote this story, which will appear in the Sunday Styles section of tomorrow’s NYTimes, thereby assuring I will never be allowed in any of these places ever again. The natural order of things is restored.