Day III

Cigars

    Mr. Johnson, the godfather, grabbed Jimmy by the elbow, and pulled him over. Once in private, he looked him in the eye, winked and said:

     “Look James, I knows ya smokes, man, but diz hea gon make a man outa ya!” and gave him the stogy.

   The next day he brought it up to the roof, so we could smoke it together. It was really one of those cheap dime store cigars. He chewed the wrapper off at one end, and smoothly, as if he knew what he was doing, slid the ciger out. Then his hand shaking a little, he took out that
cool little ring around it, put it in his pocket, and said:

     “Is youses weady fo diz, uh?”

   This time he knew he had to suck on it, so he put it in his mouth, and said:

     “Whataya awaiting fo, uh? Lites me up, ladies!”

     Joe looked at him, then at me, and says: 

     “Will ya lissen ta this schmuck, uh!”

    He pulled out his Bic, flicked it, and raised it up to the cigar. Jimmy looked at us, grinned, and took a deep breath; he exhaled, then his hands shaking a bit, slid his cigar into the fire.

     “Whatcha noivous about, man?”  Joe smiled, as he pulled his lighter back.

     “Oi ain’t noivois bout nathan, man…jest lites me up!”

     So Joe did, James inhaled, and as the smoke went down into his lungs, I remember the cigar flying through the air, and off the roof, as he started
with a loud:

     “Haaaaaaaaaaaaaccccck!”

   

     “Wadda hail!” was all I remember Joe, saying.