What happens in Woodstock... probably only happens there!

"Hey, what if I looked behind that blade of grass?
Maybe it's there, just waiting for me to find it!
Oh, but what if it doesn't want me to find it?
What if it's trying to hide from all the sucking?"

Those are the recurring thoughts of our subject, a somewhat pretty girl looking for her lost cigar. Who knows how long she's been looking for that rich and tasty companion, for she is lost in her blurry thoughts populated by hairy and unwashed youngsters...

"Why do all those blades of grass look alike? If only there was a way to tell them apart... Oh, I wish I had my cigar!"

Janice (let's call her Janice... for lack of a better name) is a hippie. The night is still young, but she already has entered another realm. She's sitting cross-legged and hunched over the ground, her hands extended either sides of her body, vaguely following a search pattern, sometimes gently patting the ground, but mostly just hovering a few centimeters above it. Her eyes are lost in a haze, not focused on anything particular, and it takes her a while to notice the young man standing next to her.

"Hi! You seem to be looking for something... Maybe I can help?" he asked.

It takes Janice a few moments to find the source of that voice. When she does, all she notices about him are two white tube socks protruding from a pair of worn out Addidas running shoes. For a moment, she truly believes those outdated shoes just spoke to her. Then one of her eyes lazily makes its way up a denim-covered leg, a cheap imitation-leather jacket, and finally meets the owner of the said jacket. Far from being handsome, saying he was revolting would nevertheless be an exaggeration. In the maze of her inner ear she hears an eerily chant, and at that precise moment, he's beautiful to her. The words gently glide out of her mouth:

"Have you seen my cigar?"
"Well, let's look for it together while you tell me about yourself! Because you see, I'm actually a spiritual councilor and I'd like to help you find more than your cigar..."

Mmm... that's a strange approach, but why not? There are no rules when it comes to seducing women. If the sky had imagination, that would be the only limit...
Of course by now you probably gathered that this cheeky bastard isn't really a spiritual councilor, whatever that is anyway. He is a predator. His only purpose in life is pursuing a prey and then consume it. But he's not very good at it, he's only done it once, years ago, and the only reason why he “consumed” his prey was that she was a desperate, poor country girl who was so afraid of being alone that she wrapped herself around the first boy who smelled like something else than cow urine mixed with old hay.
But his Cologne is not that far from it... in fact calling it “Cologne” is an unforgivable insult to the city and its most popular product. What this slick jock is proudly pouring over himself every time he leaves his putrid one-room apartment is actually closer to what a three-week old pile of unwashed dishes – covered with some kind of lemon-scented spray – would smell like. But I digress.

“But I didn't lose anything else! I just want my cigar! I think I lost it here, or at least I think I lost it... or maybe I never had one in the first place... Oh, I'm so confused!”
“Well, there's only one way to make sure you actually had a cigar! I'll kiss you, and if you taste like an ashtray, then we'll know for sure!”

… and that's why he's alone. It's not his fault, his twice re-married mother probably dropped him on the head a few times while he was an infant... Some of his pick-up lines, well a lot in fact, are not generated by the same thought process than yours or mine.

But then again, not everyone thinks like you.

Janice stares at him in pure, genuine awe.

“Whoa, you must be the smartest man alive! This has to be the only way!”

(And this is what happens when you expect something out of one of my short stories. You're disappointed. Face it, you thought she was going to slap him, or mention something about feminine pride and all that yack-iddy-yack about women having rights... well, look at you now...)

After an awkward kiss, during which the boy unsuccessfully tried to unhook Janice's non-existant bra, she asks candidly:

“So, was I smoking a cigar earlier?”

To which an agitated Willy (no pun intended, that's actually his real name) responded with:

“I'm not sure about earlier, but you could do it now!”

…

…

You have a twisted mind. He was referring to the half-smoked cigar he found after tripping over a bra a few meters away, about ten minutes ago.

I hope you feel dirty now.