On Sunday night a friend took me to a cigar bar on Lexington Avenue.
“Let’s share a cigar,” she said.
It had been a long since I smoked my last cigar.
Although the taste of the cigar was less overwhelming than the taste of my friend’s saliva I felt that the cigar empowered me.
The bar was dark and after a few puffs I burnt my pinkie.
The feeling of being empowered stopped immediately.