Flor de Oliva Toro paired with whisky and rum

Have a Cigar: Flor de Oliva Original Toro

Name: Flor de Oliva Original Toro

Country: Nicaragua

Shape: Parejo

Size: (6 inches x 50)

Strength: Medium

The doorbell rings.
You let the old friend in.

“Come in, come in!
Where have you been?
Come in, old friend,
and have a cigar.”

He comes with a gift
— a bottle of Scotch.
“Thank you!
You didn’t have to!
I’ll open it now!”

You bring him the humidor.
“Here,” you say,
“Choose one that you love.”
“You have good taste,” he says,
“Please, choose one for me.”

You light one up,
and he lights one up.
You pour the Scotch,
and then you pour some rum.

Politics,
philosophy,
work,
and women.

You drink, you smoke, you talk,
you talk
until the night ends.

Smoking an LFD Air Bender Chisel Maduro at Fat Monk in Dbayeh

Have a Cigar: La Flor Dominicana Air Bender Maduro Chisel

Name: La Flor Dominicana Air Bender Maduro Chisel

Country: Dominican Republic

Shape: Chisel

Size: (6 1/2 inches x 54)

Strength: Medium to Full

I believe I will pass out in a minute or two,
but, before that, I must confess a thing or two.

I have a big tendency to be a hedonist.
I was born to be one. Actually,
I am one,
and everyone knows it, including
my mother, my sister, and my wife.

Debauchery has always been a recurring word in my vocabulary.
I often send the word alone as a message
with only a question mark next to it.
And when my friend — or, to be more exact, my accomplice — receives it,
all he has to do is answer with a yes or a no.
“Debauchery?”
“Yes. I sure do hope so.”

If you know me, you know
I get carried away easily.
When it’s a song I love, I sing along.
And one beer can easily turn to five, or six, or twelve.
Same goes for whisky shots.

The room is spinning.
And now, the world is spinning,
and I feel like I’m the center of the universe.

Let me tell you about the smell of the night:
the beer, the whisky, the smoke,
and the perfumes worn by all these women
I cannot touch —
although, I do occasionally get a napkin
with a drawing of a heart, a phone number,
and a name on it.
But I leave them all on the bar top,
so that they know I’m not interested,
even though I am sometimes tempted.
I enjoy the smell of sweat and skin.
But when I howl, I howl at the moon, not them.

My impulses are my masters,
but I don’t follow them blindly.
I may follow the footsteps of drunkards,
but I’m always tightrope walking.
Never a wrong step, except maybe
the excessive drinking.
But that’s because I get carried away too easily.
Yes, I get carried away too easily.
I know, and I’m afraid.
I’m afraid
because I know what I’m capable of doing.
I have the power to ruin my life,
to destroy everything I have built so far
in an instant.

I go in and out of bars, in and out of bars,
and my fire is always burning —
there’s always a cigarette or a cigar
burning.

What am I really chasing?
Pleasure.
But not sex and not drugs.
It’s the feeling of drowning that I love…
You’ll never understand!

My life may not have any meaning,
but that doesn’t make me stop
dreaming.
That doesn’t make me stop
wanting.

The smoke is always dancing.
The smoke is always dancing.


Condega Arsenio for a late afternoon smoke

Have a Cigar: Condega Serie F Arsenio

Name: Condega Serie F Arsenio

Country: Nicaragua

Shape: Parejo

Size: (5 1/2 inches x 50)

Strength: Medium

I’m smoking a working-class man’s cigar
on the terrace,
drinking,
thinking about the past
and the masks I had to wear
to get here,
to a place so near
to the stars…

I’m thinking about my father
and how he would have enjoyed smoking cigars
and drinking beer
with me.
He would have been proud…

I believe I’m where I want to be,
but there are other places I need to be.
There are all sorts of hats I need to wear,
all sorts of shoes I need to fill,
and so on,
and so forth.
And there are dreams I need to kill,
all sorts of destinies I need to fulfill,
and so on,
and so on forever, it seems.

Smoking a cigar on the terrace,
I’m texting a friend
whose cigar didn’t burn as well as mine
today.
And doesn’t this remind me of
something incomprehensible called
luck,
and how lucky I am to possess it?

I’m getting hints of earth.
I’m thinking, “I’ll get a lot of it
when they finally bury me.”
I’m getting hints of maple and honey.
This is how sweet life tastes right now.

And now and then, tonight,
I’m refilling my glass,
and I will do so until
I have no more dreams to kill
and no more to remember,
until it’s time for me to sleep.