Day LXXXII

OPPs

     They had to be involved, because there were peeps carting a lot of stuff off base. They were taking washing machines, radios, refrigerators, televisions, and all kinds of household goods. They were getting rich. How could they do that without check point help. When there’s a lot of money to be made, crooks always find a way.

     It seems that when you drink you smoke more, and in town that’s all we did, drink, and try to have a good time. So having enough smokes was a necessity. We also needed to share with the locals, especially the girls, if we wanted to get along with them. They loved American smokes. It was like being back in those Mexican cantinas, man. Nobody wanted a Cigi, short for Cigarilio, and Tagalog for cigarette.

   Cigis were real chest breakers, dry, stale, and sometimes they broke in half, if you held them too tight. It was like smoking something you found in an ash tray; worse like a smoke you found under your sofa’s cushions, and heaven knows how long it had been there; it could have been there for years…but you smoke it. Yea, you smoke it, alright, because you have a nicotine monkey on your arse, and she must be satisfied. You also, never forget the taste. They even smelled bad, you kind of choked when you took a whiff . But guys would sniff them to see if they could muster the chutzpa to smoke one. We all know that when you need a smoke real bad, you’ll smoke anything. Nobody really wanted to smoke locals, unless it was just, most absolutely necessary. When guys smoked them, they were drunk out of their gourd, man. That was the first time I went for a year without a smoke, but I don’t know if that counts, because every once in a while I smoked from “OPPs!” “Other Peoples Packs.”

     Other times I went six months; but mostly it was a few days or a week- it was really hard. Hell guys, it’s never been easy… it’s always been hard.