Cigars

We're standing across the street from the ballpark and these two old guys come up and start sniffing around.

Literally.

"I love that aroma," says one. He points to my cigar. "Reminds me of real baseball."

Forty or fifty years' worth of experiences follow in the space of a few sentences. We don't really need words. We have cigars.

"Those days are gone," he says wistfully, shaking his head. Then he goes up the street to find out where the new entrance to his seats are.