The scent of a fresh bag of M@M s greets me as I open the Mason jar long hid in the back of a closet . Perhaps the burley smells of fresh Pecan nuts , but the Cavendish is pure chocolate and vanilla . The tobacco is dry just the way I like it , and the same way it was put away so long ago . Time has worked its magic on the blend and one can see tiny hints of sugar on the delicate leafs . With jar in hand my mind contemplates which pipe would go best and I see my Stanwell #2 oval bowl , The dry tobacco flows effortlessly in the bowl just needing a touch from the index finger to tamp it lightly down . The first light is a char .The minutes drag as the pipe screams for the touch a new flame to bring it to life . The smoke flows through the pipe stem to my awaiting senses of taste and smell . Each breath becomes slower than the last . The pulse slows . My eyelids become heavy with the concentration on the pipe and nothing else . Time which moves so fast takes a break as the pipe and I become one . Each slow measured puff serves one purpose driven connection , pleasure .
:
...now we must all scour the Earth for every last morsel of this succulent delight for our friend in need.