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I do not typically smoke around others, as I tend to find the perceived need for commentary and discourse a bit fatiguing. Pipe smoking is, for me, a singularly private hobby, and the idea of gallivanting about with a pipe seems to evoke a sense of affectation more than a means of comfort, similar to the idea of wearing a red silk smoking jacket to Starbucks. I do occasionally venture out with a briar, though, finding myself at the park or an outdoor patio nursing an ever-present cup of coffee to accompany a Va-Per flake. And every now and then, I'll spot a similar sight.
The other day, I had just knocked the last remnants of dottle from a bowl when I noticed the sound of quiet but deliberate footsteps. An older gentleman, dressed in a tweed coat, high-waisted trousers and a collared, button-down shirt was making his way up the park path. His canvas loafers were faded from the sun, and the pipe he smoked was seemingly just as weathered, though both the briar and loafers seemed to be performing admirably. My own pipe was tucked away at this point, nestled up against a pouch of tobacco in my satchel, but the gentleman's smoking instrument seemed to reflexively gesture in my direction like some sort of pipe smoker divining rod. He smiled and nodded, diverging carefully from the brick walkway before moving to sit.
While strangers on the train sit beside each other in silence, their shoes are making friends. - anonymous
We sat in silence for a comfortable, timeless period. The cool breeze trickled through the pines, waves crashed in the distance, and cars glided by, all while the old man and his pipe maintained a light, metered cadence, wisps of smoke emanating from his bowl and dissipating into the air around us. I never learned his name, nor anything about him, except for his apparent affinity for outdoor walks, Prince Albert, and tamping with a golf tee. He extricated his own dottle with the tee's pointed end, and with some effort, was back up on his feet. He nodded once more to me, as if to thank me for reciprocating the silence, and I watched as his canvas loafers disappeared into the distance.
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Comments
Enjoyed story.
I wish that there were more places for us to enjoy my passion. Here in WNY we can't even smoke in public without comment. Please let me know
where in my area I can visit without the general public being upset!!!
I relate to the smoking solitude of this encounter. I’ve found my own private corner of the world in a parking garage in downtown Austin, Texas (above ground of course). I relax with my pipe, while watching the business of life a few floors below. Down time, me time… alone is the best way to smoke.