You're an object. You don't need me to acknowledge you, especially if you are performing your service. And you, my little friend, are a human ashtray. Your job, your purpose, is to take my ash and taste it, and to take my cigarette butts. Good ashtrays get to serve in an every day capacity, such as when I want to enjoy a good book outdoors. You're lucky enough to have this privilege, lucky enough to see the smoke blown from my mouth after a good inhale. So so lucky. You earned this, by not being needy, by performing your service exactly to my desires. So enjoy it, you lucky thing.