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Saturday, Jun. 12, 2004 - 12:15 a.m. SMOLDERED I just got back from a dark cigar bar where I sat in a chair, smoked an Ashton, and drank a Scotch on the rocks. I said little, if anything, to anyone, and I was carded twice even though I was wearing work clothes. As I sat there, an acoustic duet played its music while a bunch of thirty-somethings socialized throughout the bar. Whatever, I thought to myself. I must be the only very eligible twenty-seven year-old bachelor in America with a million things to express but no one close that I can express them to. Either I am the world’s best kept secret, or the world’s biggest reject. |