Great Expectations

 

(G. L. Pease) ... I recall a stunning, slightly bent dublin, it’s tight, fine, straight grain flowing down the bowl like the Godiva’s tresses as she rode naked through the streets of Coventry, its top an undulating sea of spectacular birdseyes. Drilling? Perfect. Comfortable? Absolutely. Perfectly balanced, it would nestle between my teeth to become a part of my jaw, and fit my hand like a custom made glove. Everything about this pipe was simply magnificent, and I reached for it often. The pipe had one small but ultimately insufferable flaw; whatever tobacco I filled it with would taste like manure laced with napalm, and that’s being kind.
Every bowl began with great expectations. "This time," I’d promise myself, "it’ll be fantastic. It’s turned the corner, and will finally smoke like a dream." Continued