Read Online Ten Stories About Smoking by Stuart Evers - Free Book Online

his barstool now – ‘shit, what did you think? That this was some kind of Las Vegas
Brigadoon? That all these people were ghosts or some shit like that? Christ, you English are dumb. I’ve met a lot of English people and they’ve all been dumb, but you? You’re the
dumbest I ever met.’
    He slapped the bar hard. David felt the contagious nature of the laughter.
    ‘I never really . . .’ David said, suddenly realizing how stupid he’d been. ‘So what the—’
    ‘What the fuck is going on? Good question, pal, good fucking question.’ He sucked on his bottle of beer and moved his stool closer to David.
    ‘Through there is some woman singing songs written before these people’s grandpappies were born. She’s Cold War Chic, Miss Amelia, and all these are her Cold War Kids.
That’s what they call themselves, Cold War Kids. It’s all just make believe. Just a bunch of phoney fucking rich kids dressing up in their grandfathers’ suits and their
grandmammy’s petticoats. They run around pretending like it’s nineteen-fifty-two, or maybe it’s nineteen-fifty-five, I can never remember. Last week they had a pretend
three-minute warning and all of them spent the night in the fallout centre in the basement. Happy fucking days, right?’
    Flagstaff drained his beer and beckoned the bartender over. ‘Check this out,’ he said with a smile.
    ‘Say, bud, can you get me another beer and maybe some of those cheese crackers you do?’ The bartender nodded. ‘Oh and can you confirm the exact year it is? I’m going a
bit senile, you know?’
    ‘For the last time, Mr Flagstaff,’ the bartender said, ‘such talk is strictly against casino policy.’
    ‘You see!’ Flagstaff said. ‘What a bunch of fucking phonies.’
    Flagstaff laughed and despite himself David joined him. He saw himself sitting there, slack-jawed, and realized how stupid he must have seemed. They clinked glasses and Flagstaff bought another
drink. They fell into an easy conversation about why young men and women would want to relive years that they hadn’t experienced.
    It was the kind of discussion he would have once had with John: light, funny, but with just enough seriousness to keep it from frivolity. They were the conversations which would end with John
telling a truth, a long rambling truth about his life. The fact of his mother’s death, his workaholic father, his easy infatuations and the guilt he still felt about Helen. The abortion, the
dreams that had been crushed under the weight of his own expectation and his own laziness.
    David would listen and offer no advice save for a comforting nod, or the occasional ‘I see’. But that John, the John who talked with a soft candour, late at night, had long since
been boxed up and packaged away. There were no doubts now, no uncomfortable barking dogs in the back of his mind, just dates and times and plans and resolutions. And when he thought about it like
that, David realized how wrong he’d got it all.
    ‘I should get going,’ David said. ‘I’ve left my friend and . . . I just need to get back.’
    ‘Gee, Dave, I’m hurt. I thought you were sticking around for my act.’
    ‘I’d love to but . . . I really need to get back.’
    ‘Gimme a cigarette,’ Flagstaff said. ‘I’ll give you a sneak preview before you go.’
    Flagstaff took a Zippo lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette. He inhaled once then blew out a perfect circle, then a perfect square, then an equilateral triangle. David was stunned, a
memory coming back fully formed.
    ‘Oh my god, you’re the smoking guy!’ David said. Flagstaff looked up at him and smiled the widest, maddest smile David had ever seen. Flagstaff kept smiling and blowing squares
and circles and triangles.
    ‘Must be twenty-five years ago, now,’ David said, ‘but I remember it so clearly. Remember you so clearly. You had long hair then and this big old beard and you blew all
these shapes. Impossible shapes. It was the best