When Cigars Mean Nothing.

Rose is dead.

And I’m crying.  Rose was my Mom’s roomie at the facility she has stayed now for quite some time.  I think I last saw Rose alive just before I left for the Dominican.  I’m asking myself, “Why am I crying?”

I never knew Rose very well.  She was such a sweet lady, thin as a twig.  Quiet, and so fragile.  She used to eat with the rest of the residents on the floor in the dining room, but lately, she stayed in her room where food was brought in to her to eat.

I just found out this afternoon.  She passed this morning while my Mom was having her breakfast and I was placing orders here at the office.  So many things going on simultaneously.  The world never stops.

But I believe that Rose knew what was going to happen in the early hours.  My father-in-law knew.  It must be like a marble silently swirling around and around and around in a conically shaped space and only Rose could clearly see the entrance.  

And when her time came, I’m quite sure she began to relax because she knew she would soon be in Heaven.   And when she got there, standing tall, she met God with His arms outstretched and a huge smile on His face.  And without nary a word being said between them, took her in His arms and gave her a huge hug.  And the brilliance of cascading white light filled the space with rapturous intensity.

It’s times like this when nothing really matters in the world of cigars – not brands, numbers, sizes, types of tobacco, sales, essences, flavors, processing ideas, fermentation, discounts, finding an errant stem in an otherwise perfect cigar, wrappers, fillers, binders – nothing matters but Life.

If you could ask Rose, she’d tell you.  She’s full of life now – eternal life.  God bless you, Rose.

A Late Night Cigar.

(Click on the link below and then read this article.  What an experience.)

Sometimes a late night cigar is silly.  Especially in the Midwest.  The temperature changes are abrupt and can affect the cigar’s wrapper.  Like tonight, this one is splitting and disintegrating like a stale cracker.  It’s not the cigar’s fault.  Chalk one up for Mother Nature.

It’s cold in the PRESTO Cigar Lounge (Open 24/7), despite the new heat source.  I’m sleepy.  Yet, this how I unwind.  And it’s stupid late.  I just got home from a very hectic day trying to catch up from my trip.  What am I doing in the lounge at this hour?

This is how I clear my thoughts.  I have an active, kinetic mind.  It’s difficult for me to unwind.   Hell, it took me three days before I began to chill in the Dominican and begin to allow that magnificently humid and warm climate to permeate my body and soul.

So you can imagine how difficult it can be to be dropped back into this clime and routine and relax after a full day of work.  But here I am – smoking a cigar.  My eyelids are beginning to droop and I’m becoming drunk drowsy and I don’t even drink.  But I have an incredible memory – if you get my drift.

I can feel my smile beginning to return.  My heart rate is slowing down.  It doesn’t matter a whit to me that the cigar is literally falling apart.  The fact is – I’m not.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPMojig7oOE&index=4&list=RD3TNK916Pjto

Curb Your Cigar.

Seven hours ago I gently placed a half-smoked cigar in front of the rear tire of my car in a parking lot.  I had an appointment in a building that does not allow smoking.  I was going to be there an hour, an hour and fifteen at best.  I would then go back, pick up my cigar, relight that delicious caramel-licorice flavoured pacifier with its brush of singed hickory-fermented tobaccos –  and be on my way.   

But the tables turned on me and I had to stretch the meeting off-site, switch cars and head on back to the office in a different car – without my cigar.  Time flew by.  But the reality was that I had to go back and retrieve my automobile.  So I caught a ride and away we went so I could get my car back home.

When I got there in the darkened lot, two cars were there.  Mine and another bloke’s.  I graciously thanked the driver of the other car and headed on over to mine.  As I began to move toward it, I saw lying next to the curb an object that looked mighty damn familiar. Was it?  Could it?  Will I become a saint because I witnessed a miracle?

Yes!

It was my cigar!

I knew it was my cigar of seven hours earlier.  It had to be.  Most likely the wind had to have blown it to the curb where it finally came to rest trembling in the chilly night air.

As nonchalantly as Jack Benny walked onto the stage at Universal Studios Hollywood, and with nary a whit of hesitation, I picked it up, flicked off the ashes and headed to my car.

Now, even though I had the faith of the Papacy beneath my wings that this indeed was my cigar, I reached into my pocket and, with blind precision, clipped about a tad less than half an inch from the end.  I returned my hand to my jean’s pocket and located the lighter. And not more than 20 seconds later I had a glowing ember on the end of that sucker and blue smoke filling the cabin. I backed out of the space the car had occupied for almost a work day and took in another huge draw.  Ahhhhhhhhh.  Indeed, this was my cigar.

As I drove through the streets, I could tell it was warming up to its old original self,  forgiving me for forcing such harsh conditions upon it.

Would I ever admit to such an act?  Am I that desperate for a smoke that I would chance picking up a cigar off the street that ended up in the gutter, and may have been the one that I placed under my tire so I could retrieve it in sixty to ninety minutes?  

No.  I would not.

Birth of a Broker.

“By common consent, this is one of the finest dramas in the whole range of the American theater.” —Brooks Atkinson, The New York Times

Tears came to my eyes this afternoon while I was having lunch at Culver’s.  It hadn’t been a good day.  And like slow flowing maple syrup, “Death of a Salesman” entered my mind.  I never saw the original with Lee J. Cobb playing Willy Loman the main character in Arthur Miller’s tour de force – I wasn’t even born yet.  But I have seen Dustin Hoffman’s performance via YouTube.  Excellent.  

I have read the play many times.  And it was while I was googling the summary of the play, that this phrase erupted off the screen and in essence, is a commentary that the drama, as a whole, is –  “The harsh criticism of the American Dream.”  And that’s when the tear began to warm my skin.

Is it?  Really?  When the audience at the Morosco Theater in New York City first saw the play on February 10, 1949, no one, not methinks even Arthur Miller, the playwright, had an inkling that it would play for 742 performances.  And, have such an impact on the enduring philosophy of why we do what we do.

Briefly, quoting from http://www.sparknotes.com, “Death of a Salesman, Miller’s most famous work, addresses the painful conflicts within one family, but it also tackles larger issues regarding American national values. The play examines the cost of blind faith in the American Dream. In this respect, it offers a postwar American reading of personal tragedy in the tradition of Sophocles’ Oedipus Cycle. Miller charges America with selling a false myth constructed around a capitalist materialism nurtured by the postwar economy, a materialism that obscured the personal truth and moral vision of the original American Dream described by the country’s founders.”

Why now?  Why today?  Why such a scathing thought had I?  The answer?  I don’t know. But I do know that if we continue to do what we do, the way we have always done it, the picture of our endurance will be blurred and will no longer cast a shadow of hope but one of pessimism.  

Willy was a salesman for 35 years, always keeping in his thoughts the ideal personae of “a legendary salesman named Dave Singleman,” who was partially responsible for convincing Willy to go into sales.  But as it turns out, Dave was Dave and Willy is Willy. What Dave experienced was not what Willy hoped to achieve.  And in the end, Willy Loman sees himself as a failure.

The burger was good.  Hot.  Juicy and flavorful.  I scribbled more notes on my napkin and refilled my cup with DewBeer and got back into the car.  The tears had almost completely evaporated by now and I was on my way to another stop.  

So far, this year has been one of the most successful I’ve had in the cigar broker business. I just couldn’t figure out why this small psychological “bump in the road” occurred today, at this time. It seemed to be a rather odd juxtaposition of recalling the fantasy of a playwright’s elements of doomed and controversial thought adjacent to the actual booming success I have been experiencing.

As I lit up my cigar in the car, I began to feel the wind blowing through the open window and a slight coolness of where the tears had decided to dry.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPoYmQ9My_E

 

Composer Ashley Fure begs cigar senses.

When was the last time you read a cigar review that went on about the tastes, smells, and essences you could not detect?  When was the last time that the flavor of a cigar became so complex you began to think you were on a pneumatic psychedelic road trip of completely indistinguishable nuances?  

I’m smoking a cigar right now, name withheld, and it is a combination of the two descriptions above.  I’m enjoying it, but am unable to place my sensory impulses on any one tang.  The smoke is moving somnambulistically over my palate that I do taste, but I know that I’m missing what makes it as distinct as it is.  It’s the miracle of nature.  It’s that which we cannot define which makes an object real.  We can only trust our senses that we can define.  Understand.  Remember umami?

I’m reading a review of composer Ashley Fure’s experimental music-theater piece, “The Force of Things,” as it was performed at Peak Performance in Montclair, New Jersey.  (I’m also listening to “Soma” via the composer.  I was unable to find the piece that is being reviewed in the article.)  The copy is written by Alex Ross in the October 30th issue of The New Yorker.  He describes in vivid, bright surgical detail how the music is made and performed.  I quote, “The Force of Things,” is “in part a study in infrasound or sounds below the range of human hearing.  For most of the work’s duration, twenty-four subwoofers, placed with their cones pointed upward emit electronic tones that vibrate at a frequency of 10.67 hertz, or around ten oscillations per second.  They are arrayed around the auditorium with the audience seated in the middle.  Human ears can’t detect sounds much below twenty hertz, but that infrasound can cause people to vomit, become disoriented or lose control of their bowels.  Although scientific studies have failed to observe such effects, they have noted increased blood pressure, rapid eye movement, and other temporary physiological changes.  The body is listening when the ears tune out.”

Do the olfactory senses detect smells when the cigars natural fruits cease to emanate distinguishable aromas?  Or tune out?  I have provided a link to “Soma.”  Listen to the piece and ask yourself what is it you are listening to and what is it your senses are really directing you to hear – smell or taste.  Despite their transparency.  Just because we can’t hear it or smell it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

********

Called “raw, elemental,” and “richly satisfying” by the New York Times, Ashley Fure’s work explores the kinetic source of sound, bringing focus to the muscular act of music making and the chaotic behaviors of raw acoustic matter. She holds a Ph.D. in Music Composition from Harvard University and joined the Dartmouth College Music Department as an Assistant Professor in 2015. A finalist for the 2016 Pulitzer Prize in Music, Fure also won a 2017 Rome Prize in Music Composition, a 2017 Guggenheim Fellowship, a 2016 Foundation for Contemporary Arts Grant for Artists, a 2015 Siemens Foundation Commission Grant, the 2014 Kranichsteiner Composition Prize from Darmstadt, the 2014 Busoni Prize from the Akademie der Künste in Berlin, a 2014 Mellon Post-doctoral Fellowship from Columbia University, a 2013 Fulbright Fellowship to France, a 2013 Impuls International Composition Prize, a 2012 Darmstadt Stipendienpreis, a 2012 Staubach Honorarium, a 2011 Jezek Prize, and a 2011 10-month residency at Akademie Schloss Solitude. Her work has been commissioned and performed by major ensembles at festivals throughout Europe and the United States.  Notable recent projects include The Force of Things: An Opera for Objects, an immersive intermedia opera commissioned by ICE for the 2016 Darmstadt Internationalen Ferienkursen für Neue Musik; Bound to the Bow, for Orchestra and Electronics, commissioned by the 2016 New York Philharmonic Biennial; and Feed Forward, for large ensemble, commissioned by Klangforum Wien for the 2015 Impuls Festival.” http://www.ashleyfure.com/menu-2/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmmTy56AxWs

 

With a little help from my friends.

Lee Krasner was married to Jackson Pollock.  The union was volatile.  But what she did was out of sheer love and respect for the talents of the man she loved so dearly.  She literally gave up her career as an artist to help Pollock find his way through the viscous morass of the business of art.  And, despite its exterior surface of glamour, the business of art is the closest planet to the Sun.

The glitter of popularity, success, financial flooding, and lifelong security couldn’t be further from what the reality is, or ever will be.  Artists sacrifice their lives to extend themselves to impact our emotions.  It is what they are wired to do.  Kismet.  

If I mention Robert Mapplethorpe, Helmut Newton, Jeff Koons, or Salvador Dali your mind goes to the halls where their works are displayed to be studied, admired, and swooned over.  Oh, for sure some are misunderstood, cracked puzzle pieces without a clear finished picture, some just a jumble of stuff placed on a surface.  And they often need help to do this and that is exactly what Lee Krasner did.  She could see the brilliance that even Pollock himself could not grasp or believe in.  And as a direct result of her intervention, connections, and grounded personality was able to catapult Pollock to the immortality he enjoys to this day.

But what of Lee?  What happened to her keen desire to create and allow her emotions that were bubbling inside while she guided Pollock.  She held onto them.  She absorbed them and knew that someday her work would be as famous, if not more so in some cases, to achieve a duo of skills.  

An ambitious and important artist in New York City during Abstract Expressionism’s heyday, Lee Krasner’s own career often was compromised by her role as supportive wife to Jackson Pollock, arguably the most significant postwar American painter, as well as by the male-dominated art world. Krasner was intimately involved in the synthesis of abstract form and psychological content, which announced the advent of Abstract Expressionism. Her desire to revise her aesthetic or what she called “breaks,” led to her innovative Little Image Series of the late 1940s, her bold collages of the 1950s, and, later, her large canvases, brilliant with color, of the 1960s. Krasner was “rediscovered” by feminist art historians during the 1970s and lived to see a greater recognition of her art and career, which continues to grow to this day.

Today she has her paintings in many galleries, such as the Paul Kasmin Gallery in New York on 293 Tenth Avenue.  Is she here to know?  No.  But deep inside she knew that to help talent propel itself from another, hers would someday be as famous.

It is this passion that moves all disciplines of art to the top.  No one really works alone. And that goes for cigar blenders.  One may achieve the fame, but behind every blend is an inspiration.  And it will always be another person who is willing to give up their immediate notoriety to help another.

Think of that when you see photos of Rocky, AJ Fernandez, Oscar Valladares, Padron, even, dare I say, Fuente?  No man is an island.  No one achieves success alone.  No one.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqGnBVUIw1w

Her Passion is Passion.

PLEASE READ TO THE END!

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“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”  –  When Harry Met Sally.  Passion.

*****

“You and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught.”  – Doctor Zhivago.  Passion.

*****

“In vain I have struggled.  It will not do.  My feelings will not be repressed.  You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”  – Pride and Prejudice.  Passion.

*****

“Here’s looking at you kid.”  – Casablanca.  Passion.

*****

“I was looking up . . . it was the nearest thing to heaven!  You were there.”  – An Affair to Remember.  Passion.

*****

“Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.” – Prometheus Unbound.  Passion.

*****

“What do you want?  You want the moon?  Just say the word and I’ll throw a Lasso around it and pull it down.” – It’s a Wonderful Life.  Passion.

*****

“I’ve fallen in love.  I’m an ordinary woman.  I didn’t think such violent things could happen to ordinary people.” – Brief Encounter.  Passion.

*****

“All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep.  It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.” – Lady Chatterley’s Lover.  Passion.

*****

“It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.” – Lolita.  Passion.

*****

“You don’t have to do anything for me.  Oh, except whistle.  You know how to whistle, don’t you Steve?  You just put your lips together and blow.” – To Have and to Have Not. Passion.

*****

“In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find someone who loves you for exactly what you are.  Good mood, bad mood, pretty, handsome, what have you.” – Juno.  Passion.

*****

“I love you.  You complete me.” – Jerry Maguire.  Passion

*****

“I have a million things to talk to you about.  All I want in this world is you.  I want to see you and talk.  I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.” – Norwegian Wood.  Passion.

*****

“Love is too weak a word for what I feel – I luuurve you, you know, I loave you, I luff you, two F’s.” – Annie Hall.  Passion

*****

“I’m also just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.” – Notting Hill.  Passion.

*****

“Everything I’ve ever done, I’ve done for you.” – Great Expectations.  Passion.

*****

“I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world.” – Having a Coke with You.  Passion.

*****

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you – is not that strange? – Much Ado About Nothing.  Passion.

*****

“Her love was entire as a child’s, and though warm as a summer it was fresh as spring.”  Far from the Madding Crowd.  Passion

*****

“When you love something, it loves you back in whatever way it has to love.” – A Separate Peace.  Passion.

*****

“I’m not a smart man . . . but I know what love is.” –  Forrest Gump.  Passion.

*****

“Do I love you?  My god, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.” – The Princess Bride.  Passion.

*****

“We Love the things for what they are.”  Hyla Brook.  Passion.

*****

“And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy.” – The Symposium.  Passion

*****

“I’ve never had a moment’s doubt.  I love you.  I believe in you completely.  You are my dearest one.  My reason for life.” – Atonement.  Passion.

*****

“If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you.” – Winnie the Pooh.  Passion.

*****

“Love is Passion, obsession, someone you can’t live without.  If you don’t start with that, what are you going to end up with? – Meet Joe Black.  Passion.

*****

Love.  Emotional Emersion.  Endearment.  Longing.  Sensual Satisfaction.  Kisses.

Passion.  A Dominican cigar that is just waiting for you to enjoy, to experience, to fall in love with.  Conceived by Asquena Martinez Calderon who knows the true meaning of what it is to share her genuine, undeniable – Passion.

 

Total Cigar Gratification.

I’m simply smoking a cigar.  All my work is done and I’m in the PRESTO Cigar Lounge (Open 24/7). That’s what I’m doing right now.  Nicaraguan with Costa Rican filler.  The wind chimes are tinkling like they were having an epileptic fit.  No rhythm.  Just wherever the winds take the pipes.  The cigar is awesome.  I’ll keep the brand to myself.  I trust myself.  Yes, I already represent it.  It’s in a few stores.  Those stores that can appreciate it.

The flavor is like nothing I’ve ever smoked before and that’s the reason I took the cigar on.  I mean this manufacturer is known worldwide save for the US.  And I’ve already broken the ice.  Why am I being so secretive?  I have to be.  This is a very competitive business being a cigar broker.  Despite all the cigars that are available, this one has a lilt that will blow even the primary standards out of the water.  I just have to work my ass off to convince the shop owners to forget about what they have had and try this one. This, despite the time of the year in the Midwest.

You see, a lot of shops will stop buying now.  It’s getting colder and fewer guys are going to be smoking cigars.  I think that’s a bag of hockey pucks.  This, in my opinion, is the best time of the year to add an unknown cigar to the mix.  Why?  Boredom.  Guys want to try new stuff and this is one of the best options there is out there right now.

The cigar is first off, delicious.  Well constructed.  Has a wrapper on it that looks like it was made by the gods.  Deep, rich brown.  Looking at the cigar from the foot you can easily see the construction is perfect.  The draw is perfect.  The swirling flavors are balanced and adding the aromatic bouquet of the thick, blue smoke brings this cigar to the ultimate in sensual hidden erotic pleasure.

I’m writing and I’m smoking.  Rare.  Because the cachet of this Toro is pulling me into the keyboard like an elusive woman who is at a party and won’t take her eyes off of me and I refuse to look the other way.  It’s an attraction that doesn’t happen often.  Like I’ve often said I start my prose on paper and then transfer it to the computer.  Today is just plain different.  And when this happens I know I’ve got a winner.

Listen, everybody isn’t going to sway my way.  But I’ll say this, don’t turn this cigar down when I offer it to you or you definitely will be on the outside looking in.  Just like a kid in the 40s salivating over a toy he sees in the department store window.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQECeouNVjI

A Midnight Special.

“Welcome to the Midnight Special!”  Al Green.  1974.  Damn.  So sleepy.  Listening to the concert recorded live “at KRCL Studios in Salt Lake City, Utah.  Damnnnnnn.  

Applause is one of the greatest highs anyone can experience.  Though, just recently I read in W Magazine’s  article, “The New Royals,” the Classic Shirley MacLaine says, “”Applause was nice, But I liked the silence of the audience better.  The silence means Oh, my!  You have my rapt attention.”

Hiram & Solomon’s gets both.  The cigar with panache.  I was smoking a  Master Mason toro and it wowed the crowd (me) and held me in ecstatic exultation.  The cigar never quit.  Take it away Ethel!

“There’s no business like (cigar) business like no business I know

Everything about it is appealing, everything that (the FDA) will allow

Nowhere could you get that happy feeling when you are stealing that extra bow.”

“Gonna love you, baby.”

“Clap your hands with me!”

“I’m so tired of being alone,” but that ain’t no problem if you be H & S’s cigars.  

This Master Mason is a spicy, tender cigar with all the straight-faced elegance of “Rapture,” by Blondie.  First to rap on an MTV Video.  Memorable.  Gorgeous.  So damn sexy.

Why Green’s show in 1974 went down in history is the same reason Woodstock will forever be in the minds of anyone who appreciates culture, class, and music.  Yes, class!  

Or Tobacco.  Blanco, David.  He’s the mastermind here.  The Producer, like “The Producers.” (1967).  The 2-time Tony Award-winning 2001 smashzilla closes three days after its sixth anniversary (which was April 19), following 33 preview performances and 2,502 regular performances at Broadway’s St. James Theater.  (Playbill).

Then six years later, Al Green’s smash performance in Utah of all places!

Then, ah, one, two, three, ah, ah four, five, six, sev . . . oh, hell, several years later Hiram & Solomon hit the shelves.  Just got word that the cigar is now also available in France, Germany, Belgium, Lithuania, Denmark, and Sweden.

Of course, there are smiles and miles of tobacco leaves that may knock Mel Brook’s and Thomas Meehan’s golden run by decades and may even put distance between Green’s epic performance in Utah.

Vanity Fair writes about Meghan Markle “on the sudden glare of the spotlight that comes with being Prince Harry’s Girl.” (October 2017).  A split second when compared with what Blanco blended.

Don’t get a big head, Blanco.  People’s expectations are searing your palate.  So what’s on stage for next season?  Smash hits are rare.  Utah or Broadway or maybe Atlanta???  Al Green is a f*cking legend.  Your legacy will take time.  But the two guys from H & S, Ed and George, they, now . . . now they got it live!  

A variety of cigars that’ll make your head swim.  Oh, for Pete’s sake, you want all the details?  Go to a cigar blog.  Look it up!  I’m the color man.  John Madden.  

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gooo Eddie!  Goooo Georgie!  Gooooo Davey!

-30-

Patio. Chango. Presto.

It’s that time of the year again.  As the temperature dips below freezing, I have to find a place to smoke my cigars.  And, if you’re a regular reader, I usually close down The Patio Cigar Lounge (Open 24/7) right about now.

Well, I have really made a major move so I don’t freeze my ass off in the garage this year. I went out and purchased a “PRESTO Heat Dish.” A parabolic electric heater.

What’s so important about this being a parabolic electric heater?  First off, as stated in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, a parabola is “a plane curve generated by a point moving so that its distance from a fixed point is equal to its distance from a fixed line; the intersection of a right circular cone with a plane parallel to an element of the cone.” Or more simplified, “something bowl-shaped (such as an antenna or microphone reflector).”  

The adjective parabolic refers to a parabola that has the property that if it is made of a material that reflects light, then light which travels parallel to the axis of symmetry of the parabola and strikes its concave side is reflected at its focal point, regardless of where on the parabola the reflection occurs.  Conversely, light that originates from a point source at the focus is reflected into a collimated beam, leaving the parabola parallel to the axis of symmetry,*” thus, producing, in the end, brighter light, louder sound, and More.  Intense.  HEAT.

Some of the common specifics that will make your eyes pop out of your head are 1000 Watts, 3412 BTUs, and 120 Volts AC.  Whada tink a dat?  Uh?

Some special features include A Tip Switch, a Warning Buzzer, and a Manual Reset Button.  Plus it has infinite heat settings, top-mounted controls for easy access, and has a handy built-in cord wrap for convenient storage.  Yes, Roseanne, it does get better than Cheez Wiz in bed!

And the fact is that it works!  I’m as toasty as a Pop Tart.

Plus the price was just right $60.  And so here I am smoking a fantastic Hiram & Solomon cigar in the freaking cold garage – comfortable and relaxed.

So the invitation is still out there for those who have the temerity to take advantage of it.

The PRESTO Cigar Lounge (Open 24/7).  Bring your own cigars and we’ll see you soon!

 

(*Wiki)