Nicotine

As we were leaving the pub tonight after last orders, my pal was chatting to the landlady who had an unlit cigarette in her hand. Obviously, she was waiting for us to depart as she wished to light the said cigarette within her place of work, which was obviously illegal, but with us gone, who would know about it?

My pal's gorgeous partner, in a wine-weakened condition, motioned to beg the cigarette from the landlady, but withdrew. She is after all, like myself, an ex-smoker. Gentlemanly, I stepped forward and suggested that, should the landlady be willing to surrender the so far unlit fag, that I was willing to share the illicit smoke with my pal's needy, and delightful partner.

Hence we stood on the street outside of The Ship in London's bustling Soho, illicitly smoking the fag like a couple of thirteen year olds dragging on a stolen Park Drive circa 1971.

Then, as my pals hailed a cab, I was left with the 10cm remnant, which I aimed to complete to the filter for old-time's sake, when I was approached by an attractive (I'm not GAY) Italian young man who asked for a light. I proffered what was left of the dog-end, apologised, and proffered the deceipt that it was my last. He lit he fag with the dog-end, and politely offered me a fresh complete cigarette, which I duly accepted.

We laughed as we saw the comedy in how I needed to now light my new fag from the cigarette that he had moments before lit from my embers.

I then enjoyed the sheer bliss of walking the streets of London's bustling Soho at midnight drawing upon a fag as though I was born to it, which, dear reader, I surely was.

And yes, it momentarily put me in the mind to procure some champaign, a havana cigar, cocaine and a lady of the night, but, sadly I made do with the walk to the tube amongst the young with their exhibitionist splendour.

Sweet Dreams