Tuesday, November 22, 2005



Let's not talk about work, it's becoming a farce.

I went into the city before heading into hell to buy some more.. mmm.. cigarillos at a tiny cigar place in the strand owned by the.. cigar nazi.
When i first went there and asked for a dupont she looks me up and down and hands me a softer vanilla flavoured cigarillo and a dutch mini.
"You try this first, this one good"
In my pretentious voice i asked if there were better, havana made , she didn't even batter an eyelid "$25 thanks, why u still standing there?"
But she was right, the vanilla was easy and accessable and the dutch for a dare was, well, very strong and if i couldn't do dutch how am i suppose to do Havana and Cuban?

Ah.

Today she smiled as i asked for another tin of vanillas, "you like this? good. try this one, very popular"
it's a chcolate flavoured one that's 2cm longer due to a filter.
Did she overheard cafe society talking about some skinny boy smoking cigarillos with bits of tabacco stuck on his lips?

Long and phallic with sweetness of chocolate, i had to use my Tiffany's cotton bag to hold them.

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