I only smoke before physically agonizing heart exams, doctor.

Huffing it down boulevard Saint Marcel this afternoon, I was brought out of my sunshine-induced reverie by the sound of a weirdly rhythmic shuffle approaching. A few yards ahead, a heavy-set older man in a wrinkled polo and slacks scuffed his babouches along the sidewalk, sucking intensely on a cigarette. Just as we were about to cross paths, he flicked the cigarette into the gutter and hooked a right into a nondescript building. Nondescript except for the panel running along the entrance marked, "Institut Cœur Effort Santé."