100 years ago my aunt had this cigarette rolling machine.
I would roll cigarette’s for her and my uncle. I was…8 or 9?
Anyway, I would pull the tobacco from this can. Jam it into the machine. Slide a filtered paper cylinder on a protuberance.
And, like an old school credit card lithographer, I would pop out a tube of filtered moments.
Moments to talk over.
Moments to look at coffee steam.