The Last Smoker in America seems like a particularly New York nightmare. It’s not our guns and religion that they’ll pry from our cold dead hands, it’s our smokes! There has been much resentment by the community of gradual immolation and halting recovering through hors de prix nausea, or as I like to call them the carcinogenophiles, after Bloomberg banned lighting up in restaurants and bars, and then public parks. After the mayor’s threatened interdiction of fizz (by the fuzz?), the soda industry has been rallying its troops of the morbidly obese and reflexively sedentary to take to the streets and storm city hall. Perhaps instead of a typical march, the folks at Coca & Pepsi Cola can hire a fleet of reinforced golf carts to ferry its legions of animate lipids down Broadway— though this might cause panic among New Yorkers that there’s been an alien invasion…from the Midwest! The Last Smoker in America posits a future where cigarettes have been outlawed and possession can lead to heavy fines. At the beginning of the play, an animatronic smoke detector announces that possession of one cigarette is punishable by one year in prison, and later proclaims that persons caught inhaling will be sentenced to twenty years hard labor in Poughkeepsie. Poughkeepsie!