I slam the pen down on my desk, not hard, but the exasperation is noticeable. I step out now into the rooftop balcony with a plastic resealable bag. I sit down on a red foldable camping chair and attempt to light a Little & Wild with some matches from the J.C Newman Cigar Co., I got about two years ago on the corner of a downward slope in cold Hbg, PA.
I light one, I light two, I light seven; they all go out. I can’t even light a cigar. I walk into the bathroom, light the eighth, it goes out.
“Newman!”
I grab the stove lighter and walk towards the garage. A foul odor greets me. Low and behold, the cat did his thing. The exasperation wanes a little, and all that matters even for just a minute is that your house is clean and smells nice.