In a marshy Scottish accent (but not so much that he was gargling his words), weary-looking elder gent Andy Morrisson sat on the stage and pleaded to the hundred-odd suited crowd not to take away his e-cigarette.
"Don’t tak' this awa' fae me, it wull kill me," he sobbed, barely hiding his anguish and emotional connection to the little portable charger-looking device he was holding up. "It's th' ainlie thing keeping me alive. Aye need it."
He sobbed a bit more as the crowd went silent. A camera flash went off somewhere, and the panel resumed. Later on during a break, I saw him sipping on some tea and showing his 3rd-generation e-cigarette to a couple of vapers. The ever present waft of candy-scented vapour surrounding them was thick enough to cause condensation on my glasses.
"Don’t tak' this awa' fae me, it wull kill me," he sobbed, barely hiding his anguish and emotional connection to the little portable charger-looking device he was holding up. "It's th' ainlie thing keeping me alive. Aye need it."
He sobbed a bit more as the crowd went silent. A camera flash went off somewhere, and the panel resumed. Later on during a break, I saw him sipping on some tea and showing his 3rd-generation e-cigarette to a couple of vapers. The ever present waft of candy-scented vapour surrounding them was thick enough to cause condensation on my glasses.