The good life: cigarettes, bedpans and nurses.
My grandad was a poor man that never had any money. Back in those days you could still get a pack of smokes for under a buck, and Grampa had an elaborate machine that allowed him to roll his own and save even more money. He was built like a tall version of Popeye The Sailor - with a skinny body and big, ropey arms and hands that could shred anything softer than hardened steel. He smoked like a stack till two years before his death - at 86. Not bad for a guy that survived chemical gas attacks in WW1, the great depression, and never owned a car until his late 60's. He was almost euthanized in the hospital after his 3rd or 4th stroke - he was in an oxygen tent at the hospital and the nurses caught him trying to light up. They gave him the very hell of it (and he deserved it) and he finally quit when they explained to him how fire and pure oxygen react.