Oh, I love to see a man with a cigar. It reminds me of my grandfather. Morning to night, he used to sit with a great big stogie dangling from his lips. Oh, the hours we kids used to spend sitting on his lap, playing with the yellow whiskers beneath his nose. Then he'd take out his teeth with the cigar still in them and chase us around the room! We'd all laugh and laugh . . . then suddenly Grampa's mood would change, and we'd all have to run for our lives. . . . You can't buy memories like that.
