The Day He Quit Smoking a Pipe

A newly minted twenty-one, a
senior in college, he attended
the spring fraternity dance in
the downstairs ballroom of the
restaurant on the banks of the
river leading out to the Big Lake.

It was a big deal to rent out a
facility in a resort town twenty
miles from campus. He, one of
the few frat boys to smoke a pipe,
thought it made up for his grades.

Of Scandinavian descent, he pre-
ferred the sweet-smelling blend
from Sweden and he enjoyed tell-
ing everyone, in a fake accent,
the name of the blend. It was his
first date with the cute, blond
sophomore. Someone called his

name and as he swung around, his
pipe struck a support column. It
flew out and twirled to the floor,
sparks landing on his date’s dress.
She refused his calls over the
following summer.

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