Dad had hosted a cribbage night and retired shortly before I got up on Saturday morning. I went to the basement to inspect the post-party debris. The leavings of an El Producto Corona sat in the ashtray, and although it wasn’t smoldering it was still live. I took a big draw from it, the way I’d watched Dad do and a huge jet of hot smoke went rushing into my lungs. I let out a violent cough and the butt rolled under the card table. I ran back upstairs to watch my cartoons, mildly aware that I’d done something naughty.
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