It's pot easy being me

 Taking a long pull of his ever present whiskey, Skyler Steelin coughed as the alcohol burned his throat, then followed it with a drag on his cigarette. As a world traveler, he had been introduced to both at a young age, but now, appreciated them for what they gave him. He didn't realize it when he started smoking, but the cigarette gave him space (more than one person had suggested they didn't want to sit next to an ashtray) and time to think about the spin on whatever question some nosy reporter was asking. The vice also allowed him to bond with his friends half-way around the world.

As the reporter, Rob, continued with his pesky questions, Skyler blew a smoke ring at him. The reporter blinked twice, but kept asking impertinent questions, like "How much of your income was actually derived by selling state secrets?" and "I understand you're not going to give me a number, but can we shoot for a percentage?"

Skyler took another sip and winked at the reporter. "Can you prove that? Can you prove any of that?"

Rob just shook his head. He had been an eager young reporter, once upon a time, ready to change the world. Dirty politics had made him want to quit more than once, then he was put on the political beat. Although he knew he would never get a real answer, he had to try.

Steelin subtly moved his laptop out of the way, ostensibly so the smoke wouldn't drift toward it. He didn't want to cause any fires, because everyone knew, where there's smoke, there's usually fire. 

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