The Smokers

"Morning, Sylvester. Usual?"

As I enter the shop, Roy's already reaching for my baccy. An ounce of Drum - well, whatever-it-is grams of Drum - like always. I can't get along with the new weights and measures - but then, that's the beauty of not having to ask any more.

He's alright, is Roy. One of the few people who can say my name without making me wince.

And though I don't think many of his customers come in for pipe cleaners these days, he takes a pride in the cigars, fine tobaccos and proper pipes he still sells.

You have to give him credit though, he's not been afraid to change with his customers.

He's a realist, and I like that.

But he's pleased to see a fellow lover of a good smoke - tobacco smoke - you can tell.

"So sir," he says, handing back my change. "How are things with Mr MacQueen, then?"



Story begins here