Bex is flying back to Europe from Las Vegas in several hours, and in two and a half weeks I’ll be in Merry Olde England with her . . . and the two of us, both non-smokers, will share a cigarette together. Why not? I smoke like five cigarettes a year, either on an Exceptionally Bad Day, or if a babe asks me to . . . this will be the third this year, all of them with her, first in Italy (top), then polluting the Swiss air together next to a crystal-clear glacial river (bottom), and soon in godforsaken England (inevitable picture forthcoming). Hey, I love it . . .

Those cigarettes in the first picture were from Japan. I have no idea how Bex got a hold of them. With her you never really know, which is something I like about her. Though yeah, they were extremely long and thin . . . real chic. It was like chiefing on a pixy stick. You could smoke one of those things in about forty-five seconds, which is the perfect length of time to smoke a cigarette if you’re not really into that sort of thing.

*burp*

A long time ago, back in the early Oakland days, I weirdly had a brief smoking phase. My cousin Jack and I would drive around in our decommissioned police car and burn through a pack of Mellow Yellows in a few days. What the hell was I thinking? Who knows . . . but my clothes always reeked of cigarettes. And then you sit down on someone’s couch and they sniff the air around you and say, “. . . did you just smoke a cigarette?” and you feel a little embarrassed because it was four hours ago and The Smell Had Remained. Plus the car always smelled like cancer. And a pack of cigarettes in California was like $14 back then. Lord only knows how much it is today. Good-bye to all that!

And yet, sometimes I Remember and briefly miss it. Smoking a cigarette was always something to do. It was an excuse to leave the room and go be outside by yourself for a few minutes. And if someone joined you, you could be alone together, just smoking cigarettes and talking. Driving down to LA at 100 mph at midnight with my cousin Jack, with the windows rolled down, blasting music, lighting cigarettes, laughing like hell . . . man! And what is it about a smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee at the same that feels so good? It almost sounds vile on paper. And yet you combine these two highly addictive stimulants and you feel like you can punch through concrete afterward. Too bad about everything else.

Remember what the fella (David Lynch (RIP)) said when he developed emphysema and quit smoking:

I have to say that I enjoyed smoking very much, and I do love tobacco—the smell of it, lighting cigarettes on fire, smoking them . . . It was important to me. I wish what every addict wishes for: that what we love is good for us.

Anyway . . . now that I have for some reason written an entire post about the concept of cigarettes and smoking them, here’s Chalk Talk Fia and me in Savannah a few years ago:

And some absolutely bonkers Russian girl I met here in Berlin (who bit my lip!) took this one:

Spirit Sister Leila took this atop a bar in New Orleans last fall:

From a VIDEO I made with my friend Kelsey (Marlboro Reds . . . this was rough (I’m an Artist)):

And here is, I think, the first drawing of me that my best friend Laura Rokas ever did:

In conclusion: Seeya soon, Bex . . . miss ya. Love ya. Let’s BURN A COUPLE OF HOT ONES together in the land of May Mornings and Midsummer Eves, and feel very glad indeed. What else is there? I can’t think of anyone else with whom I would rather incinerate my throat and lungs. Yeah?

Well . . .