On the nose it’s fresh aquarium charcoal spread across the floor after I tripped and fell. I dust myself off and breathe in super grainy, super refined, super classy notes. This is no ordinary cigar bar, I mutter to myself as I look around. I see in the mirrored pillars that I’m wearing cartoonishly-offensive sultan clothing, a turban festooned with faux jewels, and ridiculous gold shoes with elvish, curled-up toes. I reach for my harissa-flavored tobacco argeelah and draw in deeply.
The mouth bites with the fervency of a leach. This is the moment, I think to myself, that I’ll later remember as a lesson. I’m Elmer Gantry beseeching the potholes to heal themselves—and hastily, on account of the oncoming winter. Steaming tar fills the hole and closes this scene in a sensory fog.
The finish is a mermaid surfacing out of quicksand to steal a sandwich from unsuspecting picnickers. (They suspected neither the theft nor its half-fish, half-woman mastermind.) She was smoking a long, hand-rolled cigarette. The smell hung in the air long after the brightness of the shock settled into dim dismay.
–Our thanks to ImpEx for the sample!