The Downhill Side of Thirty

Health was no longer a problem for the aged. All they had to do was ban sex and tobacco to those over thirty-five....
Chuck Dane patted shaving lotion on his face, enjoying the second of vicious sting. He closed the medicine cabinet and stood for a minute examining himself in the fluorescent lighted mirror. He was lean and hard and, of course, tanned. A few grey hairs flecked the sideburns, but he didn't think that he looked thirty-five. And, damn it all to hell! he didn't feel thirty-five!
He opened the bathroom door, and hesitated. He dreaded to walk through the photoelectric beam and set off that odious disc! Sometimes he got down on hands and knees and crawled under. But he felt so damn silly!
Well, he couldn't stand there all day. It was Monday and they would expect him at the office.
He squared his shoulders and walked into the hall.
Lung Cancer, Heart Attacks!
Heart Attacks, Lung Cancer!
Beware, old man, Be ... ware!
The tinkly message followed him up the hall. I could jam the damn thing! he thought, but they'd only repair it at daily Gov-Apts Inspection and report me again!
He pushed his hands into his pants pockets and walked into the dining ell. He slouched in his chair, and watched Sally swish back and forth from the kitchen as she set the table. She was in blue nylon pajamas and fuzzy blue mules. Her red hair was tied up in a provocative pony tail.
She felt him watching her, gave him a devilish grin. Sleep well last night, dear? In your own little bed?
You know damn well I didn't! God, he wanted a cigarette. After two years he still wanted one! When would the hunger for them ever stop?