Bent Words

Bent Words

February 19, 2010

Iím trying not to smoke inside. Really Iím trying not to smoke at all but here I am, smoking anyway. Occasionally. I have one or two at night. Three or four if a beerís involved and, since Iím on vacation, there arenít too many hours in the day where beer isnít involved or at the ready.

(I suppose Iíve just described a Wisconsiniteís version of a perfect vacation.)

The cigarette is sitting on the balcony. I am sitting just inside. I lean outside the balconyís screen to take a drag. So technically Iím not smoking inside. But this whole undertaking wasnít that easy.

Indeed I wasnít very prepared for this whole smoking thing at all as I somehow made it upstairs from whence I smuggled the cigarettes without any form of fire. After a very intense half hour of digging through various closets, drawers and bags, I was able to find a condom. Expired, no less. This was followed by a fairly short bit of amusement as I attempted to discern which of my frolicking family members had used the condo (and not the condom) prior to 12-08. Bah. Good show, I say.

At last there appeared before me, in the bottom drawer of the bathroom sink, a box of matches. This box of matches has seen better, less humid days. But with a bit of luck and a lot of determination, I was able to light one of the little suckers and produce fire.

Mighty fine time to be reintroduced to fire safe cigarettesÖ

Whatever, I have a goal and that is to smoke this stupid cigarette. Outside of course. Where the dimly lighted pool, such a striking blue although itís night, across the way begs of a few hours full of debauchery, where the palm trees stand with significance against the harsh blast of the long northern freeze known as winter and where the occasional sound of a v-twin engine can be heard shifting through gears on the main drag just down the drive.

So, yes, I have to admit -- I really enjoyed this one smoke.

Written at 10:19 p.m.