(Review #2. Cigar #1 I think? I took em out of their labeled sleeves. 6 x 54ish)
...a sudden bump in the road shudders the car and rattles me free of sleep. I survey my surroundings and see nothing but blackness speeding by.
"Keith, I think we just hit something!" I say, with great concern.
"What's this we stuff?" Keith retorts sleepishly, "You're the one driving."
He's right and I resent him for it, but there are matters of far greater concern at the moment so I let it go.
I sense we've been on the move for hours - days even - but as the scenery and asphalt speeds by and beneath us, I know we aren’t close.
"How much further, Keith? I gotta pee."
"No telling" he replies, "I don't know where we're going."
Our car screeches to a halt as I pull to the desolate highway shoulder.
"Look" I say as I unfasten my seat belt, "one of us clearly knows where we're going, and - clearly - we all need a little time to remember who that person might be. What do we have to smoke?"
Keith reaches into the glove box and retrieves an unbanded cigar - a 6 by 54ish cluster of leaves enveloped by a wrapper of beautifully light hazelnut brown, covered in veins barely visible to the eye - like the well waxed leg of an anemic Ecuadorian babushka.
I lop the head of the cigar with a double guillotine and draw; the essence of tobacco and dried raisin are pulled swiftly and without resistance through the smokeless air. I apply the torch and almost instantly, I’m near-certain this cigar is an AJ product.
(There’s a strength I associate with AJ, but a flavor I associate with nc upmanns [like a musky cologne] and it’s probably the fact that I’ve consumed so much thc, but I seem to remember my local had a colab stick between AJ and upmann, and that’s what I’m gonna guess this is. Again, I’m about 2 puffs in and drenched in thc, but that’s my guess.)
As we sit, alone, on the lightless desert road, the car now filling with cigar and something else smoke, Keith jolts like a man struck by lightning and exclaims, “The wedding!”
“Of course, the wedding!” I respond.
I start the car, throw it in gear and lose traction as we maneuver from clay to pavement. At once, on the distant horizon, life and lights begin presenting themselves, and as we draw closer to the jubilance, many-a-little things begin to make sense - our tuxedos, the wedding gift in Keith’s lap, the Reverend in the back seat.
“Worry not padre” Keith assures our holy passenger, “we got this!”
We don’t, but Keith is great under pressure.
Closing in on our intended venue I begin, as well, to close in on the first third of what I’m increasingly confident is an upmann or similar cigar. There’s a distinct flavor on which I can’t quite elaborate, but I know it well.
When I first started smoking cigars I would visit gas station humidors hoping to stumble across something worthwhile. Upmanns were to be found always, and they filled the humidor with a distinct note. This is the note I’m tasting now and it dominates the flavor. What unexpectedly accompanies the flavor is a strength - one that contributes near nothingness to the taste - but somehow manages to keep the cigar palatable.
I’m enjoying it, despite it being outside of my normal range of preference, but without the strength I don’t think it would be quite as enjoyable. I’m both confident in my guess and confident that I’m way off the mark.
We arrive at a spectacularly designed and decorated castle of sprawling grey and white stone - an oasis in the midst of a lifeless desert. And what life indeed! Guests of all shapes and sizes dressed vibrantly for the occasion scurry off in every which way, and as we escort the man of the cloth from car to castle it’s obvious the reaction is in direct response to our arrival; clearly we’ve arrived late.
We tail behind the distraught preacher as he’s now hurriedly and frenziedly ushered to a side door of the castle by a rather rotund woman whose dress on any other occasion might be interpreted as an attempt to endear herself to a sort of rare and endangered bird, of the swan family perhaps; but such clothing is tolerated at weddings and as such I urged Keith to bite his tongue.
We reach the door only to find it slammed with the reverend on one side and Keith and I very much on the other. I look down at my halfway smoked cigar to notice a small portion of the wrapper has succumbed to an ever expanding filler - common place, in my experience, when dealing with a somewhat thinner wrapper.
The burn line is in need of a slight touch-up, and in doing so, the crack in the wrapper is mostly dealt with. The flavor of the cigar has remained consistent - a mild, cedary, florally-cologne taste that, again, I tend to associate with nc upmann’s. I wish I could elaborate on it a little better, I just know it’s an unmistakable taste that I’ve always associated with upmanns.
Fairly confident my smoke will be less than appreciated within the confines of the wedding hall, Keith and I make our way around the exterior of the venue. I’m feeling a bit purple so I search my pockets and come up with a bag of herbs and some chocolate. Unsure of which will help, I consume both via their respective methods.
Keith spots a lone bridesmaid standing a good football field away, who in turn has spotted our cloud of smoke. She fires off a glance of palpable judgement. Keith has mistaken it for flirtation and - despite what I feel is a pretty good argument against it - Keith decides to approach her with romance in sight.
As he begins his awkward dance of shameless romantic pursuit, I turn my eyes back to the cigar in hand, which is quickly winding down. Near being put to rest, it hasn’t once changed its color. A bit of a one trick pony, but an enjoyable one. I doubt I would seek it out again, but I’m thankful for the chance to have smoked it.
I look back towards Keith only to notice he’s descending upon me quickly, a posse of angry looking groomsmen hot on his tail.
“Start the car!” he yells.
“Damn it Keith!” I holler back as I race toward the car. “I told you bridesmaids don’t wear that much white!”
As we leap into the car and speed away from the castle, back towards the red sea of waterlessness and clay, I stub the cigar out in the ashtray and take a long draw of cannabis.
“Where to now?” Keith asks as he hands me one last unbanded cigar from the glovebox.
“Wherever you say Keith” I respond, “I’m just a figment of your imagination.”
