Grand Smoker

His tobacco-stained teeth told a tale. His blood shot eyes were a visible fail. He reeked of smoke, cheap liquor and a lot of stories. He lamented sorrowfully. The Grand Smoker was the name he afforded.

Like the fire he lit on his cigarette, it consumed him. Each drag causing a rush of unwanted fury. He was no longer himself without a cig sticking out of his mouth. He no longer knew himself and those around him didn’t recognize him too.

You could smell him from miles away and when they did, they hid. He was no longer fit as company and the words “I was” “I knew”, “once upon a time” were familiar terms rolling off his tongue. No one cared to listen for he had told them the same narrative to many times.

The Grand Smoker finally met his end. Live by the fire, die by its smoke. They barely remember him, but any sign of smoke drew a nasty memory. And as the ashes from his pipe, he was blown away by the wind. Replaced by another smoke of time that comes and goes.