[Boots13]

Pappa Andy was cool, he was a war vet, his hands were burned. He was the pilot and the last guy out of his shot down B52 or something like that. It crashed, he got captured. Those were some tough days kiddo. He had ribbons and medals and stuff that were hanging on the wall.
He was grampa by marriage. He didnt like kids. He drank coffee and smelled like smoke and cologne. He laughed his raspy smokers laugh. And he'd roll his eyes, shake his head and say to me, "kid, you are something else..." lets watch some Lawrence Welk.

So one day I thought I'd be cool and take a pack of his camel unfiltered cigarettes. They were just sitting there, calling my name. Rolled em up in my t-shirt sleeve. NO, not cool, skinny arms. In my jeans back pocket? No, not cool, I'll bend em. Ah, inside my t-shirt pocket...very cool.
I rummaged around for matches, and found two books ! Two whole books !!! I practiced lighting matches behind the shed. It took me a book but finally...finally, I could light a match with my thumb without pulling it out of the book..cool...ouch, I burned my thumb...but really pushing the cool envelope now.

I celebrated my newfound talent by climbing the oak tree. A majestic oak tree. With my Camel cigarettes and my book of matches and my burnt thumb. I climbed high, to the big V notch and planted my butt. I sat there, swaying and slamming the pack against my palm ...I dont know why, but that must have been like a cigarette right of passage. If you
didnt slam the whole pack into your palm then maybe you didnt deserve them? I tore open the cellophane and foil and I tried to flip one out, knocking the pack against my finger...bombs awayyyy...gravity took it and I watched it twirl all the way to the ground , straight down. And another, and another...there was a little pile of cigarettes at the base of the tree. And I was determined to get it. I tried again...skootch, skootch, tap, There it was, hanging precariously halfway out of the pack! Haha. I just blew cool right off the charts.

I put that baby in my mouth...Ewww. I had to spit grains of tobacco out. Little bits of sharp, stringy, lumpy tobacco...my tongue was numb. And it tasted GROSS ! I lit my match..burned my thumb...held it to the cigarette, and while the tree waved and shook and swayed got it lit. Draw, cough, hack, wheeze, draw. Hack, cough. Glowing red hot cherry, hot smoke and watery eyes, hack, cough..how come I didnt feel so cool? I was living the high life, literally. I was high. I was very high... I was dizzy. I felt sick. I was nauseas, my blistered thumb hurt. I started sweating. Swaying. Sweating. Swaying....and like the cigarettes before me, gravity snatched my butt right outta that tree. I crashed through leaves and limbs and finally landed with a breath stealing THUD !!! ... barf...wheeze, dizzy...barf...woozy...wheeze...barf ...
ugh, not so cool....