Perhaps it was the cigarettes. The ones they feigned on so often and that filled the air with plumes of smoke. You see the unencumbered warmth they exuded had to come from somewhere. And my adolescent mind could only conclude that the source had to be the smoldering tobacco pursed between their lips. The smoke, exhaled forcefully towards the sky, spared those shorter, or downwind. You’d probably also suspect that their deep laughs were a product of the smoking, an ailment of sorts. But they came naturally, with an ease that brings to ones face a whole hearted smile, so spontaneously that the depth of their tone could be anything but.

It was summer and a pig roast.

It was the taste of vinegar and V8

The smell of red Marlboros and amber whiskey

My family and me.