The artist smoked cigars—one on his porch with a glass of mescal, another during an evening stroll through the neighborhood. One cigar a day, maybe two. "Nice cigars," he said.

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
The artist smoked cigars—one on his porch with a glass of mescal, another during an evening stroll through the neighborhood. One cigar a day, maybe two. "Nice cigars," he said.