Lodi NJ. The place where I lived. Perhaps even the place where I grew up. I have almost no ties to that borough though. My family lived on Riverview Avenue, closer to Rochelle Park and Saddle Brook. My father was a member of the Saddle Brook VFW Post 3484 as well as the Saddle Brook American Legion.

The VFW was where I learned how to smoke and watched the veterans get drunk and smoke cigars, which can explain a lot about me. Not so much the drinking but rather the smoking aspect. Initially it was cigarettes about for the past 25 years or so it’s been cigars more and more. If Gauloises were still manufactured, I’d probably be smoking those roll ups.

I do recall hanging around some bad boys at the Boys’ Club in Lodi, trying to bum a cigarette, maybe around 1972. I certainly remember being at the VFW with some other bad boys who actually taught me how to smoke and flick a cigarette to the curb.

And then there was Johnny Serpone, with whom I planned to get some cigarettes from his father and go to Industrial Lane on a weekend and smoke some Salem cigarettes. One cigarette was all it took, I got high and promptly rode my bike home furiously pedalling my bike home, trying to gulp as much air as possible so that my parents or my siblings would not smell the cigarettes on me. It was not until sometime later that I realized there was no way they could smell the cigarettes on me since just about everything smelled of cigarettes back then.

Cigars always got my attention though. Something about them appealed to me. The smell, the look of a man smoking one. Not every man, but there is a type. And of course, there is an erotic connection for me, which brought Mike into my life.

But where I smoke cigars whenever possible, Mike only smokes if he is in front of a camera. It was that look that got me on the hook. He recognizes me as a cigar man and I suppose I am.

I worked as you know at Davidoff in Columbus Circle, the Time Warner Mall. I wrote about it as the cigar shack, and I made friends with some of the customers and two or three staff members, I did not find any of the customers to be sexy.

There were the two guys from Delaware, in town for a car show. They let me know they were coming and we hit it off but it never went any further than the walk in humidor. One of the couple did post a tasty erotic video that has provided some enjoyment before bedtime.

This was supposed to be about Lodi NJ but here I am writing about my history with nicotine. I admit that I am happy with Bill enjoying cigars though not with the passion I have. He smokes in a manner I would call theatrical. Lots of flourish and exaggeration.

I am a daily smoker and I ain’t got no time for that. Is it something to be proud of? I can’t say. I know other people would put me down for this vice, and there is always the chance this vice will kill me one way or another but that makes me tense, and to relieve tension, I will smoke…

Wednesday, May 20. Midweek. Humpday. Yesterday was OK. Still with the air conditioning problems at work. Nothing insurmountable. I would do some work in the 104 fruit stand and then I would go to the 100 fruit stand and chill down for a few minutes. In fact yesterday , was a day where I did very little and it was understood because of the tremendous heat.

Sister Mary Octavian. Last night I told Mike the story of Sister Mary Octavian and how she used to beat me when I was in kindergarten, waiting for Mrs Burson to begin the afternoon sessions. Sister Mary Octavian would walk in and seeing me alone in the classroom, would chase me and when she caught me, would spank me and make me stand behind the television set until Mrs. Burson arrived.

Sister Mary Octavian might have had problems with my brother Brian, who was in her class, and perhaps would take her frustrations with him out on me.

Sister Mary Octavian eventually died and her wake was in the Immaculate Conception Cathedral. MY parents were still somewhat involved in my schooling and the parish and so we attended. We walked up the long aisle to her pine coffin. There she was, in her nun’s habit wearing a crown of thorns.

I later learned that Sister Mary Octavian had built her own coffin. My mother had me add her to my nighttime prayers, including her after my family, Mommy, Daddy, Francis, Annemarie, Brian, John (Me), and Sister Mary Octavian. Praying that my tormentor was blessed. Stockholm syndrome by way of the Vatican.

At lunchtime, I like to sit outside my building and have a quick little cigar. The spot is usually empty of people, though yesterday there was some guy I took to be homeless. He was so bothered by my smoking that he gathered his stuff and moved about 20 feet away.

He was there today and as I was sitting down and I told him I was lighting up. He didn’t mind and started talking about cigars as well as all the items he retrieves from the trash of upper-class buildings in the area. His name is Von, and he just talked and talked. IT wasn’t so bad but the solace I sought was not to be found today.

Von lives with his wife in Staten Island and keeps his stuff in a storage facility on Varick Street. His stories were a bit outlandish but I wasn’t going to say anything but every now and then, an “Oh really?” and of course the good old standby, “Wow”.

I finished the little cigar and thanked him for his chat. We will probably cross paths again, now that he’s taking over my usual lunchtime spot.
Von probably pushed his shopping cart around, wherever the spoils of trash could be found.

The air conditioner is working fine. Subtle, not too cold. Tomorrow is the Thursday morning on camera meeting and I think I am prepared for it, though when showtime hits, who knows.

I put on The Running Man movie from last year on. I had recorded it. I hoped MIke would be into it, but it could not compete with his phone. It was good that he spent the night, but it is time for him to go back to his crib. His beloved is supposed to arrive tomorrow, staying until Monday so if that
is the case I won’t be hearing from Mike until next week.