Saturday, May 4, 2019

Tonight, Saturday, the memories of smoke have turned the clock up to ten  and a half an hour past that. 

What shall I smoke to add to those memories that push the hands of time, that edge me forward to gatherings of the leaf and to new experiences with this plant that is grown around the world in tropical zones that band the planet.

My humidor is at it most full state. My Gurkha traveling case has 30 cigars plus two on the edge. The humidor won in a drawing at the Montecristo Cigar Club in Cocoa, Florida, has about 20 Dominicans that I picked up for a song. I have two Vanderburgh One single-stick humidors, loaded. Thursday, at our cigar meeting, I won four Nubs, bought a Montecristo Classic and an Aladino, was given a Gurkha cigar by my waitress, and was given a HVC Edicion Especial by one of our speakers. 

That's a tough choice for me. I get so emotional when given a cigar, and I want to smoke it then or soon in order to reciprocate the kindness of the gift.

The time is late.

Again, I defer to darkness, to fatigue, and to questions swirling in my head with memories of wisps of smoke: how do I show respect in a time of disrespect.

Take care of yourself, of the leaf in your trust, of the loved ones under your protection.

My name is Kit, and this is my call.

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