Tales Of Smoking: Death be not proud, you ain’t all that.


For lent, Matt gave up karate, and by karate, he meant cigarettes, and replaced it with religion, and by religion, he meant beer. Even though his eyes darted furtively back and forth and back, going at least 120 mph, his knee bouncing, a hyperactive nervous tic, he was oddly silent. Jittering hands, his own, the humongous clock, an already opened fresh pack of Salem® in a lesser pale green box, insinuating less tar, and more flavor, back to the clock, the cat calendar on the wall, set to March. 28 days boldly marked out with a red ‘X’. Each successive ‘X’ larger, shakier and redder, the skittish medium-sized black and gold cat, named Dos Equis®, named, of course, after the most interesting man in the world™.

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