This article is part of the The Great Authors Series series.

VapeStand v1.0


It was the worker who took his cotton sack home that hurt me most. Pricked and weary beyond compassion's reach, to retire without rest to mend by the light of coal lamps, in his little space filled with smoke. He would rise each day with aching lungs to labor to pay his debts and nothing more. To never advance himself or save a dollar.

I think of that smoke from that lamp, coughing up and staining his walls and inside him like spoiled grease. What might his day be like if instead of smoke he breathed vaporized flavors? Peppermint, coconut or graham cracker s'more. A candy shop in his lungs. And upon his orange crate table, balanced uneven, would sit his VapeStand, with every flavor a man could conceive. After those sweet vapes he would rise and toil for more than just living. He would understand that there is a greater life awaiting us. A VapeLife. It can be found if we dare inhale the tangerine vapor of our dreams. Now conveniently organized with all our pens.

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