WARNING: This blog uses a wee bit of poetic license.
Mark Twain is a good friend of mine. We go way back. Mark gets fed up with his brother Orion talking political garbage, and I need to hide out from Sherry’s list of daily chores. We sneak up the Jumbo Grade Trail from Washoe Lake to Virginia City. We sit on two big rocks about halfway up, next to an abandoned mine.
I tell Mark my deepest thoughts. He puffs on his cigar and jots them down. Here are just a few that tickled Mark:
“Be good and you will be lonesome.”
“I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.”
“Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.”
“I haven’t a particle of confidence in a man who has no redeeming vices whatsoever.”
“A man cannot be uncomfortable without his own approval.”
My buddy Mark stops puffing on his cigar and says he has a good one of his own:
“If smoking is not allowed in heaven, I shall not go.”
Mark hasn’t been around for a while. I miss him. I hope he’s doing okay. But you can never tell about a man who loves to smoke, drink and tell tall tales.
Figure this one out for me