Thank you, Mayor Bloomberg.

Thank you for passing the law prohibiting smoking indoors. (What a novel idea.) So that our entitlement to do as we please in public places is impeded upon. So that when I'm walking through the LES on a Saturday night (I specify Saturday night because never is LES more congested) clusters of chainsmokers who've congregated outside Pianos, 12 inch, Cake Shop, whichever hipster enclave they've come out of, decked out in certifiably "cool" but ugly as fuck glasses, shoes, and ill-fitting clothes smoking their Parliament cigarettes can survey my hair color critically as I pass by and say to each other at perfectly audible normal speaking volume while I am within earshot, "that is so not cool."

The air quality in clubs doesn't bother me, I'm more concerned with the quality of the people who occupy those clubs, because once they spill out onto the street for their cigarette breaks, I'm essentially subjecting myself to mockery by merely walking down those streets. It's like an extravagant and ostentatious showcase of each establishment's hipster clientele; each parades its trendy patrons, all fair-faced, perfect of feature, their cigarettes balanced on their fingertips, and the groups of smokers rotate about every 5-10 minutes. The sidewalks of the LES are polluted with bohemian barflies and delinquents, debauchees and art students... people I'm sure fancy themselves this city's hipster elite if for no other reason because they can stand outside of 12 inch looking pretty, arms crossed, Parliament accessory cigarette in hand, jeering at passersby who don't quite measure up to their standards of hipness (but who, nevertheless, have much sharper aesthetic senses).

So my hair is the color of windex, what's it to you? My jeans still hang nicelier and the hems fall to my shoes more gracefully and the lines of my clothes are straighter. Your clothes are hip and ugly, mine are contemporary and aesthetically pleasing. BEAT THAT, BITCHES!

Thank you again Mayor Bloomberg.