At the time, Ian smoked clove cigarettes constantly and drove a Vanagon the color of that Crayola crayon Burnt Umber. Everytime we climbed into his van he would pull a couple of cigarettes out of the box and we would light up before leaving the parking lot. Even now, when I smell clove cigarettes I hear the crackle of those pungent things and think of Ian.
1 comment:
me too, every time.
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