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A Doctor and a Smoker


The conversation took place in a bar in Las Vegas. It was around eight in the evening. “Excuse me, sir. Yes, you. Is this seat taken?” the doctor asked politely. “This is a free country,” the smoker replied grudgingly. “Ah, alright. So, what brings you here at this hour?” “I’m always here, mate. I live for this life. You want a cig?” “No, thank you. I’m fine. I just wanted to read a newspaper and relax. I’ve had quite a day.” “You ain’t gonna get any of that in here. This is a bar. But, yeah, dude. I get ya. Life sucks, doesn’t it?” “I suppose it… sucks sometimes, yes. My name’s Doctor John Watson.” “A doctor? No, surprise there. Ah, no. I don’t do handshakes, but I’m Ed. You sure you don’t want one?” “Thank you, but I’m sure. I don’t smoke.”

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“You British gentlemen are quite a funny bunch,” the smoker sneered in a mocking tone. “I’ll be honest with you, Ed. That statement sounded quite British. And I’ve seen what those things can do to your lungs. It really is not pretty.” “Man, you’re in a bar in Vegas. Don’t lecture the people around here if you don’t want your ass beat up.”

“I apologize. I just wanted to – ” “Stop talking and drink your beer.” “Beer? I’m afraid you have made a mistake. I ordered coffee.” “A bar. In Vegas.” “I understand. But you know Ed, smoking can cau– Oh Lord! What was that for? Was that… an apple?!” the doctor exclaimed, rubbing his temple. “It sure was, pal. You know what they say… An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Now, get out.” “Oh, I am so– ” “Scram, Ben Carson. Or I will be forced to give you a piece of my mind.” As the doctor left the bar, he shouted one last thing, “I am not a neurosurgeon!”

#creativewriting #prose #dialogue

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