He coughed. And that cough began another round of hacking; pulling up phlegm; spitting yellowish-brown matter; coughing some more; hacking some more; this time pulling up phlegm with a tinge of pink with the yellowish-brown matter.
Coughing one more time with a, "Owee that was propah!" he said aloud to no one but himself. Everything settling in it's various nooks and crannies in the membranes of his lungs. Excellent, he thought to himself. Without thinking he reached for them, Camel Non-Filters. Shook one of the fags out. Tapped one end of the cigarette up against the right hand thumb several times. Put the same end that was striking against his thumbnail in between his lips. Took out the square box of wooden matches that were in his left pant pocket prior to retrieval. Opened the box of matches and took out one of the short wooden sticks with a red tip at one end. Closed the box of matches. And finally struck the red tipped end of the match against the one of two rough sided panels. Put the match against the now pursed end of the ciggy. Inhaled wickedly while lighting. Shook the wooden match fire out by a flick of his left wrist. Put the extinguished match in the square transparent bluish tinged ashtray. Took the fag out from his lips slightly pinched between his left index and middle finger. Finally exhaled. "Ahhhhh! Naw that's a propah fag! The Yanks did ye right 'ere," He said again aloud to no one but himself. He looked at the ciggy and smiled. "Time to make some tea..."
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