When a woman smokes a cigarette, she transcends mere mortality and becomes a Priestess of Pleasure, even a Goddess of Primal Fire.
In today's dull world, theophanies of any kind, and even of the tobacco kind, are mournfully rare.
Yet in one afternoon at a wholly unexpected place, a humble county fair, I was overwhelmed. I saw more lovely ladies enjoying cigarettes than I have in the entire year preceding. Lighters clicking, lips clasping, lungs savoring, smoke spilling forth sweet and sensuous.
Surrounded by crowds surging hither and yon, I also discovered that none of the nicotine goddesses seemed to pay attention to where they directed their heavenly exhales -- another nearly extinct phenomenon in our bitter and paranoid society. Again and again I positioned myself to enjoy the elixir that had pleasured each woman and now was expelled from her lips.
The best seven dollars that I have ever spent! Damn, must I wait a year for this fair to return?
