I was running and rerunning old cigarette ads in my head, trying to recapture those golden moments. Those glorious old golden moments that we all love so much. Everyone knows those golden moments don’t they? We all have a stock of them somewhere in our memory. Buried deep beneath all the crap, probably. Those old golden moments are so glorious aren’t they? Or at least I assume that they are – I can’t actually remember for sure. They are buried too deep. But I’m trying my best to recapture them all the same. I know they must be good – they don’t call them golden moments for nothing do they? By jingo they don’t. They don’t they don’t they. My mind was confabulating again – trying to fill up all that empty space. Trying to make it go away.
After unwrapping it I tapped the packet of cigarettes smartly on the coffee table and luxuriantly drew out a long cool Peter Stuyvesant Superking. Taking my trusty clipper lighter from my jeans pocket with my other hand, flicking it open with a casual movement of my wrist and striking a light. Slowly I light the cigarette, drawing the richly satisfying smoke deeply into my lungs. You can’t beat the first drag of a Peter Stuyvesant Superking after you pull it slowly and luxuriantly out of its packet when you have all the time in the world and you’re flicking open that classic old-time clipper lighter with a casual well-practiced movement and you’re lighting up taking that rich rich smoke deep into your eager lungs. I was reliving a golden moment. Come to where the flavour is I told myself it’s the smoke that says so much about you I reach into my jacket pocket and slowly take out a crumbled pack of Camels “What are you smoking buddy?” asks the guy sitting to my left I’m feeling so relaxed so casual slowly exhaling the fine quality smoke out of my nostrils I’m smoking Dunhill International Deluxe Classic I tell him it’s the best smoke on the market…
I let the taste linger for a while on my lips before I take another deep drag it feels so right I’m fixing myself a rollie with my favourite Boars Head Classic Dutch Tobacco, taking my time with it, the fine rich tobacco as dark as molasses and twice as sticky I light up and bring the rollie up to my lips with a slow and practiced movement it’s laced with stramonium for extra smoking satisfaction for a hit you’ll never forget. “What are you smoking buddy?” asks a demon with the head of a snarling baboon sitting right next to me on the park bench and his words take on a life of their own in my skull they buzz like a giant swarm of bees and instead of fading as time goes on as sounds normally do the buzz gets louder and louder until it’s like the biggest swarm of bees there ever was inside my head. I’m sitting in the rainforest in some uninhabited primeval world at the dawn of time and the buzz of the bees is inside me and outside of me at the same time. “Watcha smoking Buddy?” asks the demon sociably and I’m staring right into his face which is falling to pieces and reconstructing again constantly. “Bet it isn’t Embassy No 6.” he says and he gives me a big slow wink.