Rumor Volat: Friday Starts Early

Oh, it's you! I thought someone was smoking weed...

~ My neighbor Mark

Nope, not weed. A cigar. It's hard to imagine a Californian in his twenties who doesn't know the smell of marijuana, but there you go. We moved here from Philly, home of the blunt, but even I'm taken aback by the ubiquity of west coast grass. When I pass on offered weed, I invariably get the 49er stinkeye, but what can I say? When I want to get my swerve on, booze gets me to where I want to be. Whiskey more often than not. From time to time, a cigar seems just right.

Now, I'm not one of those rude-asses who lights up a stogie out in public (only slightly more acceptable in mixed company than setting light to a pipe, clove cigarettes, or farts) but I do like to kick back after work on occasion, mix an old fashioned, head out by the bamboo grove, and watch the sun set over the palm trees.

Rumor has it that Sanborn's department store in Tijuana just down the road carries genuine Cuban cigars—unlike most places that sell "Cuban" cigars. I wouldn't know about that. Nor do I know anything about the Gigante supermercado (Avenida Revolucion at 2nd) carrying some of the lowest-priced Havana Club rum in town. If that's how you like to get your swerve on.

As Virgil says, rumor flies...

.