Growing up I had a neighbor, Lou, who could have been the poster child for the evils of bodily abuse. He smoked at least two packs of filter less cigarettes a day and by the 11 o’clock news had conservatively gone through nearly a fifth of bourbon on a nightly basis. The only exercise he performed was walking to and from his car to buy the abovementioned vices. I won’t even begin to guess as to his diet.
Looking back, it was sort of a medical miracle that he lasted until 62 when his heart, lungs and liver collectively surrendered.
Afterwards I asked my father why he never even attempted to stop, or at least reduce his tobacco and alcohol intake and he simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Someone has to want to be helped first.”
Lou obviously did not.