I'd be disappointed if Peter Saville wasn't smoking in his cover shot.
Peter Saville takes forever to smoke a cigarette. He reaches, mid-sentence, for a pack—a white pack of Marlboros, a red pack of Gauloises, or a blue pack of Chesterfields, which he smokes alternately—and palms it, pausing only at a thought’s conclusion to extract one. Once lit, it sometimes goes unpuffed for minutes, smouldering on the rim of an ashtray or pinched delicately at its tip like a four-leafed clover. Eventually it’s stubbed out, and the process soon begins anew.