stormsiren609

My fondest memories are tied up in threads of cigarette smoke and dregs of spilled whiskey. Even way back in the days where we all played the happy family game the smell of my parents smoke and the voices and amber glasses from dad’s bar cocooned me. I still remember how I could taste the tobacco in the back of my throat from my perch behind the bar. Not even eight years old and there I sat amongst old men slumped over there drinks with worn shoe leather faces. The bar was one of the places of old, the patrons rooted trees shedding leaves of peanut shells and cellophane cigarette wrappers. I learned more in those hot afternoons and balmy