The rules governing personal conduct on the top deck of a Glasgow bus are known to international peacekeeping forces everywhere: keep your head down; do not make eye contact and on no account attempt to make polite conversation with strangers. Refrain too from making jerky or unpredictable movements. It was probably the last of these that I transgressed last Thursday evening as I fished out my electronic cigarette and started puffing. Yet only for a few seconds did subsequent events threaten to get out of hand.
To inhale a good lungful of the nicotine essence that these little missiles produce, it's necessary to suck really hard so that the blue tip glows iridescent and bright. In this way you can sustain the merest hint of a hit at the back of the throat before exhaling enough vapor to make it look as though it's a real cigarette you're smoking. There had been a few tetchy glances from other passengers, especially from a nervy young woman who may, very possibly, have simply wanted to light up herself. Now there's a tap on my shoulder. An older gent with a no-hostages haircut leans forward. "Are you just smokin' that for effect, my friend?" he inquires, pronouncing "friend" as "freen." "As a matter of fact ... yes," say I.
"Well, in that case I think I'll join ye," he says, producing one of his own, which glows green.
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