i used to know this guy who fueled his Volkswagen car with vegetable oil. I don’t remember if it was a VW Jetta or a VW Golf, but for the sake of this story it doesn’t matter. We were driving to Ontario to visit a friend of his who lived in a barn. The friend sold me a copy of ‘Satan in Goray’ for a buck or two, but what I remember most is driving back to Montreal and seeing tobacco out the window. The leaves were wrinkly looking, like an elephant ear probably looks like. It got me thinking.
If I smoked tobacco, I’d find a patch of land and plant some and go back there with a lawn chair and talk to the stalks or leaves or however tobacco comes to be and when it was ripe and brown and ready to be dried and rolled, i’d bring it back to the city and sit on a porch or a patio and smoke it as the sun was going down and during every exhale and sigh, i’d feel glad about nothing in particular.
sweet flaky ash
tumbling out of existence