Occasionally I find magazine stories, and this time I found one about trying out Nat Shermans.
A Nat Sherman Cigarette by Allison Shnayder
They called him Sherman for short. He was everything any girl would want, tall, dark, and with an air of mystery. His essence was in how he carried his reputation, rich, smooth, and natural, unlike all the other imposters that have come in his footsteps.
Blessed with a youthful appearance, being 19 at the time made no difference, as I was easily mistaken for a 16 year old everywhere I went. Being over 6 decades ahead of me in sophistication, and elegance, I was unsure if I would be able to handle what came with being associated with Sherman.
The golden box carried the sophistication, and elegance that I had long heard about. It was like a scene out of The Great Gatsby, or Boardwalk Empire, when the ladies take out their bejewelled, or engraved cases, with rows of cigarettes neatly laying in leather, or velvet; except this was a cardboard box, but can’t a young girl dream.
As I placed it onto my lips, I tried steadying my shaking hands.
With every breath, my head began to spin a little more, my mind clouded, and my stance became slightly shakier. It was almost like being in love for the first time, your judgement impaired; it’s just you, and him. Finally, I had him.
“My fingertips, and my lips, they burn from the cigarettes…”