by Brandon B.
Tobacco Prince is located in a one-story building. Remember that.Mom is next door getting her hair done, and salon smells send me running on a made-up errand to whatever business is nearby. I say Starbucks, but slip into the Tobacco Prince. Small, but well-stocked with cigarettes, cigars, and hookahs. One customer defiantly smokes, still complaining about the various no-smoking restrictions in California. I could say something about Oregon, but I don't.His special lady friend takes a sudden interest in me. "Hey, who did those?" Those? What is she pointing at, my shirt, she wants to know what brand I'm wearing? That's very California. I lie, "It's Kate Spade." "No, who did your boobs? I want some like that. Who did them?""The man upstairs." I leave quickly and collect my mom. Getting into the car I see the lady friend, standing outside Tobacco Prince, staring at the roof.
