Around me there are no fewer than two places that sell cigars and have places to smoke them. I really want a cigar. The thing is, I hate everything and everyone even tangentially related to cigars. I have had recurring dreams about cigars. I WANT a fucking cigar.

The thing is, I really hate cigars and the people who smoke them.

Sometime after the cigarette ban, I remember there being two places you could smoke indoors. One was a “cigar bar” one was a diver bar. In the latter, it was a matter of time before your got stabbed to death. It was okay, but not that okay.

Advertisement

In the former, my only good experience was when some city councilman heard I spoke Arabic. To settle a bet, he asked me the exact translation of “salam alaykum” and “wa alaykum al-salam” and followed that by paying my tab.

On the other side, in that same place, I was told that some ex-marine came very close to murdering me for reasons.

Whatever. I would sit there with my cigarettes, because it was the only place I could smoke them.

But, God, I hated everything about cigars and their culture.

Even going to the promised land, on 42nd and 5th, where you could buy cubes, I knew those fuckers were lurking with their humidors.

Advertisement

Do I go, on Friday or Saturday, to buy a few Ashtons, knowing full well that I will hate everyone and everything involved?