Black Market Cigarettes
vintage stogie shop opening today. all retro. all 1980s. pre smoking ban. closing shop next week.
Secret code for access to the cig store is at the bottom of this email:
Send it to me through direct message on instagram or twitter 1 / twitter 2 and include what packs and how many you want.
I’m on a balcony at a party overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and there’s something in the background playing that sounds like Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing with a modern house remix added over it.
The iron railing under my fingertips is getting colder with the arrival of Autumn. Cigarette butt in my left hand makes smoke run up my wrist, arm, towards my shoulder and gives a nice break from the chill. I’m wearing all black. An attempt to camouflage myself into the night because, as I imagine, anyone walking up from behind me won’t be able to tell me from the pitch black ocean and sky.
The only shimmer of light is from the moon, creating a silver runway across the ocean surface that streams directly into my heart and a soft, vibrating red hue that’s coming from inside the house behind me.
Someone standing beside of me looks like Bob Dylan. His sunglasses are on, at 11pm at night, knowing how douchey he must look this lets me know he’s confident enough in his own skin to act like this reckless.
I’m analyzing him. Thoughtful gaze out across the ocean. Taller than me but more wiry. Also in all black. Boney fingers gripping the iron railing. He looks at the moon, then down, checking out the distance in a slow and methodical way.
“Are you thinking about jumping?”
Deeper voice than I’d expected. More slow and calm than I’d expected.
“Hadn’t even crossed my mind. Are you going to?” I’m hoping I don’t have to talk someone off the ledge tonight. I’m praying for discernment from God if I have to. I’m praying I let him jump if he wants.
“No. Maybe. I haven’t decided, I came out here for fresh air though. That Journey song has been on loop for 45 minutes and I’m the only one that’s noticed.”
“Hey man, hold on to that feelin’…. don’t stop….. belie-” and I start laughing but to play it cool take another drag of my cigarette and think about jumping myself before saying, “if we did jump, we’d have to avoid the rocks on the right.”
He laughs in a forced way, ask for a stogie himself and leans his whole head down to hide from the wind under his black trench coat.
“I don’t think I could ever do it, really. I think about it, see the finale, a noose, a pill bottle, but in reality I love this life and what God’s given us down here. Then I think of my family. How selfish that act really is. So I smile again, look towards the moon, grab the horns and buckle down.”
“HEY! Who are you talking to?” and my friend, trashy drunk, slurring words and swaying back and forth with a bottle of El Jimador Tequilla gripped too loosely in his hands is standing at the sliding glass door looking at me, confused, before asking, “and why do you have those fucking sunglasses on? You have to know how douchey that looks, right?”
Much Love
Winston
Souled Idea
21st Century Pirate
Aristocratic Scoundrel with a bleeding heart.
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