Standing in the 11 O’Clock sun, basking in it, communing with a poor caged tree, I was startled out of reverie by pounding feet on the tarmac as a jogger hurried by.
“There’s nothing more ugly than a beautiful woman behind an ugly cigarette” he yelled at me – I quote verbatim.
I threw back my head and laughed at him. No other response was necessary.
For me, tobacco is sacred, and I treat it reverentially.
For me, nothing is uglier than tarmac and monstrous cars rushing by, between concrete and brick buildings housing the cells of gangster capitalism.
For me, nothing is uglier than that poor, caged, symbolic, suffering tree.