Peter Stuyvesant


I took a long slow luxurious drag on my Peter Stuyvesant Blue cigarette and felt myself savouring every moment. Peter Stuyvesant Blue Kings are my preferred brand – my smoke of preference, you might say. No matter what was going wrong in my day, lighting up a Peter Stuyvesant Blue would restore my sense of composure, even if it was just for a few brief moments. I took another long drag and then exhaled with pleasure, savouring every moment of the experience. Peter Stuyvesant Blue King Sized cigarettes are my brand of preference, my preferred smoke, you might say… Just then I remembered that I was in fact dead, having died quite recently – a long and painful death, as I now remembered, due to chronic emphysema, brought about by smoking. My perception of smoking a Peter Stuyvesant Blue, and enjoying it, was merely a residual body image – it wasn’t real at all, it was just a post-mortem hallucinationFuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck I cursed, then reflexively reached for a cigarette. It was a Peter Stuyvesant Blue King Size, my favourite brand you might say, a smoke of preference and distinction, a choice brand you might say. I took a long slow drag and let the smoke trickle out languidly from my nostrils, luxuriating in the smoking experience of my preferred brand and then realized with a shock that I was in fact dead. It was just another recurring flash-back, another residual…


I found myself lighting up again, I never actually meant to light up or anything I just saw my hand reach out and pull out one of those long satisfying Kings from the pack and putting it in my mouth then finding a lighter somewhere and lighting it up taking a long slow pull taking it back and feeling the smoke fill my lungs luxuriating in the fine luxurious feel of it my favourite brand you might say Peter Stuyvesant Blue then letting the smoke trickle out languidly from my nostrils savouring the moment my hand reaching out all by itself for the pack pulling out a smoke for myself the choice of distinction watching my hand pull a lighter from nowhere and sparking up taking a long satisfying pull on it…




Running on residual body image I reached out and took a long slow pack the satisfaction moment the brand of distinction you might say a postmortem hallucination moment I reached out slowly in a frozen forever moment of recycled time and took the time to appreciate the rich smooth flavour my hand reaching out like it doesn’t even belong to me pulling out a long slow King Size cigarette and then producing a lighter and sparking up savouring the moment as I bring the cigarette to my lips and take a deep satisfying draw and then my hand reaching out again all by itself in a long slow luxurious drawn-out recycled packet of stale old time and my other hand lighting it up, lighting it up, lighting it up, lighting it up everything flickering madly like a strobe light over and over and over again in a moment of residual deep slow satisfaction I reached out





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