You are walking down the street and you see an old man puffing away on his pipe and after you pass him you smell the wonderful scent of smoke that smells like a dessert.
Well thats not what happens when you pass me on the street smoking my pipe. Oh ,people see me coming , and they think how wonderful to see something from the old world... waiting to catch a whiff of my pipe brew.....and then it hits them . The odor of burned leather, overdone steak, camel dung tossed on a fire, or the best I have heard ... scented car exhaust. The stuff I smoke tastes like heaven but smells like hell....at least to everyone but me. I am a lover of latakia blends and flakes and almost everything I smoke has Virginian tobacco in it . Perique is also a nice change of pace from time to time . So where do I smoke at home ....in my decompression chamber.
You know the little room when you open the front door in a home in Queens NYC? Five feet by four feet ...very small. The place where you keep a snow shovel and a few umbrellas...thats where it is. I transform it nightly into a mini den of delight . Folding lounge chair,portable heater that reeks of old smoke, a lit candle, my computer with music playing , and a glass of either tonic water or a fine N/A beer ....yes they make good ones ...not O'douls.
It is there where I wind down the day and clear my head from the insanity of freelance work and raising children. I sometimes chat on the phone with an old friend or listen to vintage radio dramas. "Lights Out","Jack Benny","The Witch's Tale" and of course "Sherlock Holmes" with Basil Rathbone.
I will never post a picture of the room ....its very unattractive. In my mind the walls are covered with African safari trophies,hand painted portraits of my family and my ancestors, and a huge bear rug under my red velvet arm chair. One of these days I will get that bear in upstate New York and make that fantasy a reality.