[QUOTE=NeverBend;35487]Story number 0 (zero) - mine doesn't count. Yours should be waaay shorter than mine but I hope that you'll indulge me for writing the long version.

A Day in Milan - A smoker's story

It was 1986 and it was the only time that my brother and I travelled together. When you go to Italy, for any any reason, you’d be foolish not to spend time taking in this magnificent country. So it was understood, whether we went together or alone that we added time and expected to have a blast along with work. He spoke the language and I butchered it but in Italy that doesn’t matter.

We imported pipes and I smoked them avidly but we travelled with cigars. It was inevitable that a customs guard would drop and damage the pipes and spill the tobacco. I prefer my Dunhill #965 without a topping of Eau de Dirt. Cigars hid well in shoes and in Europe, if found, they never interested customs. Besides, we always had a lot of pipes to carry home and our personal stock could cloud the issue. Once the cigars were gone, there’s nothing left to carry around, but while we were travelling they were precious. You’d understand this if you ever wanted to buy a cigar in Italy in 1986.

Our trips always started with Gino in Milan and then we’d go with him to spend a day with Gigi at his home and workshop.

On this trip, the next day was ours and we headed off, on foot, from Gino’s store at 32 Via Vitruvio for another of my brother’s meandering, “I know where we are” walks. It’s a good two miles but it took a couple of hours only made easier by our Te Amo Toro Maduros from our freshly stocked travel stash. He was always trying to prove that he knew Milan or Rome better than me and he usually proved the opposite. When we arrived I was a bit surly having barely started our second, very precious, cigar.

In 1986 the dining hall of the Monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie had just begun it’s massive restoration and it’s humble facade gave no clue to the wonder inside, The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci. Once we were convinced that bringing the lit stogies inside might not be viewed favorably our priority became finding a suitable place to hide them awaiting our return. No stub left behind and these were barely started.

The back of the dining hall building looked nothing like a church. It’s brick construction looked more like a garden apartment and it had a small courtyard with a tree that had to two large branches that divided into a ‘Y’ at about eye level.

I slipped my cigar onto the mortar between two bricks on the ledge of a window that was just above my head and urged my brother to do the same but he knew better and he chose the ‘Y’ of the tree. If you weren’t seven feet tall you’d never be able to see my cigar but my brother’s butt was in plain sight.

We’re talking smoking here, not art, but there was no one except us in the dining hall to admire The Last Supper for twenty minutes before people started to arrive and it was sublime. I almost clubbed a Dutch dick who kept leaning over the scaffolding to see if he could touch the painting.

As we turned into the courtyard horror struck. A genuine, first issue, Italian bum with soiled pants that Mussolini must have been shot in was right in front of the tree, eyeballing the curious black stick cradled in the ‘Y’ of the branches.

I have no idea what the hell my brother yelled at this guy, other than ‘it’s mine’, but he was pissed.

The bum picked up the cigar.

I ran to the window and the brick ledge and reached up.

Bingo, no worries. It’s all good.

By now my brother and the bum were speaking rapid fire in Italian and then, with a flourish, the bum slipped the entire cigar into his mouth, rolled it around and produced it dripping with saliva. He extended the soaked stogie towards my brother and in clear Italian said, “Per favore, si fuma si” (please, you smoke it).

We took my route back to Gino’s store and made it in half the time. The rest of that cigar is one of the best smokes I’ve ever had.[/lol I love it! Didnt even have to say i told you so!!