Smokers are used to getting grief from the rest of society. Having been bombarded with graphic warnings about your certain death by cancer, frowned and tutted at for blowing filth-clouds at civilians, and forced out into the cold and rain, the least you can expect is to get a nicotine fix in peace. So you light up, inhale, and then with a casual flick of your finger send the filter of your cigarette arcing off into the gutter. Because, well, everyone does that, don’t they? And cig butts – they just kind of, go away, somehow… Don’t they?