ISSUE 01 - The Insistence of Elegance - Magazine - Page 26
THE LOST ART
(of Smoking)
There was a time when
stepping outside meant
something specific. When
spaces were built with vices
in mind. A lighter gave you
a reason to linger. An
ashtray suggested the
building understood you.
The ritual was small and
exact. Produce the object.
Light it with more reverence
than need. Disappear into
the motion.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Say nothing.
It gave us something to
hold while deciding what
to do next. The cigarette
burned without resolution
and then we pretended it
was never about the smoke.
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