I am rather particular about my vices. Being a sensualist, I see them as rare delights, made better by that rarity. I am very picky about my coffee, which, admittedly, is no rare delight. I’m choosy about my booze, preferring mead and lambics. I do not consider myself a smoker, but I occasionally indulge in two specific sins in the category of tobacco: cigars and Djarum Black clove cigarettes. Come September, the latter of those will no longer be legal to sell in the U.S.
This, as you can imagine, depresses me. Gone will be the days of LARPers breaking from game to go smoke a cancer-stick as black as their characters’ souls. Gone will be the days of goth clubs smelling sweeter, slightly, than other clubs, the air tinged with tobacco and spices. I, however, will not give up. If I have to import them myself for my own personal use, so be it. If I have to gather a gaggle of friends to share the expense, so be it. If I have to go to Canada or Mexico to get me some smokes… dammit, so be it.
All this from the woman who smokes two packs a year. As I said, I’m very particular. Don’t fuck with my vices.