Читать книгу Clouds Of Smoke… The Story - Gianluigi Ciaramellari - Страница 15

On Saturday mornings, especially a sunny one such as “that Saturday” of the end of April, Damien’s store was rarely visited, while in the afternoon there was always a lot of work, whatever the weather. Therefore Damien took advantage of that time to restore his manual regeneration atomizer, a job which gave him great satisfaction.

The work consisted in building a coil, namely a “spring” made by winding a resistance wire around a small screwdriver, forming a series of turns, very tight and not crossed, heated by a flame of a caramelizer and then pressed down again with pliers.

Finally this coil was mounted on two conductive towers, placed on a base, called “the heart” of the atomizer, and through this spring, he passed a cotton strip which he then put around it, after closing the whole device with the steel cylinder that was the pre-funnel of the atomizer.

Once he soaked the cotton with the liquid to be vaporized and once he assured himself that the resistance he built had the right value of desired ohms, once he set the right dispenser voltage, he pushed the button of his electric battery. Thus, the incandescent resistance caused the liquid with which the cotton was soaked to nebulize into the atomizer’s combustion chamber, coming out full of aroma and fluffiness, when a person inspired from the little tube called drip-tip. Every time he built a coil, he had the foresight to try its incandescence before he dipped the cotton into it, in order to be certain that the resistance became incandescent from the centre outward in a uniform manner and within the required time.

That Saturday morning, something extraordinary happened to Damien’s resistance, something which explains the need for the above explanation.

The coil had just been placed on the conductive towers, Damien had screwed the little screws that held the two ends of the resistance wire to the positive pole and to the negative pole, and was about to mount the stand on its battery to test its value, when Sonia stepped into the shop.

“Good morning!” said Damien. He sounded as though he was expecting her.

“Good morning Damien – said Sonia with a radiant smile – I came to thank you for the other morning, you have no idea how lucky I was to stop in here!”

Damien looked at her with the tenderness of a father who is about to receive a gift from his child, he leaned on the counter, resting on his arms and turning his palms to Sonia as if waiting for a gift.

“What happened?” He asked while holding out his hand to shake Sonia’s, and she promptly shook his back.

“Did you hear about that bus, number twenty-nine, which caught fire at the end of Via Baracca?”

Damien nodded and shook his head as if to say: “Okay, go ahead!”

“I could’ve been on that bus, and maybe I wouldn’t be here to tell you about it!” She said with her eyes wide open.

“Yes, I heard about it, an awful story, I heard that the passengers couldn’t get out of the vehicle”. He said.

Sonia was wearing a pair of tight-fitted faded jeans, a pink cardigan and a pair of strap sneakers, also pink. Even without heels she was tall.

Although not as much as Damien was.

Sonia told him that her watch had stopped and that thanks to that, she had missed the bus that went up in flames, and especially thanks to his kindness, when he had distracted her by offering her a coffee.

They chatted about this event for a while and finally Sonia decided she could trust Damien and the items he sold. She asked him if she could try a VAPE and he happily agreed, also tempted to bring out a sampling of coloured batteries so she could choose the one which, (he was sure); she would buy that Saturday morning.

Sonia had a craving to smoke, and talking to Damien elated her extraordinarily. She had never felt so attracted to a man, mentally and physically.

Damien handed her the electronic cigarette, after charging it with a good tobacco liquid containing a certain percentage of nicotine and Sonia took it from him as a child taking an ice cream cone from the hands of its mother.

She took two or three puffs, long and close between them, turning her back to Damien, maybe to hide the yearning she was feeling.

It was a good chance for Damien to watch her from behind. He noticed her rounded hips, straight legs, which were so tightly wrapped within her tight jeans that he could admire their perfect shape. Her shortly cut hair, allowed him to admire her long elegant neck.

Damien walked silently towards Sonia, stood to her left and then moved in front of her like a dancer who takes the hand of his companion to invite her to dance. While he moved he could smell the fragrance that radiated from her neck and hair.

He closed his eyes and fully savoured the scent, mentally picturing Sonia, as if he had a three-dimensional view, in front of her mirror at home, as she sprayed the scent on, raising her neck, turning it, bowing her head and lifting it up again to see her reflection, in all its beauty.

Sonia turned her face towards Damien’s, who was just a few inches away from a kiss; they looked at each other for a moment that seemed endless and eventually Damien, more alert than Sonia, took the cigarette from her hands, which she gave up as a robot without its CPU.

“What do you think?” asked Damien, while moving slightly away.

“It’s good! I didn’t imagine it would be!” Sonia answered, recovering from her momentary confusion.

“This might help you stop smoking, Sonia. You have no idea of the benefits that you will find, not only for your health, but also for your whole being. Don’t allow tobacco to waste what nature gave you, your beautiful smile, the colour of your skin, its softness!” Damien spoke as he continued to look into Sonia’s eyes, trying to communicate that he really believed that those words were meant for her wellbeing.

At that moment Sonia decided she could talk to him about her illness, surely he would listen to her; something told her that he would help her face her disease with a positive attitude, rather than let go and give up fighting. Maybe Damien was the right person to offer her some moral support.

“When I came here the first time, - Sonia started, collecting her courage - I had just come out of the doctor's office across the street, I went to pick up the tests that confirmed that I have a tumour.”

“Oooh! – Damien interrupted her, visibly shaken – Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure. Excuse me if I told you this, I know it’s a little confidential, but I wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t part of my family or friends; I think you can understand why.”

“Yes, I understand – answered Damien – people who have known you for a long time, always feel very emotionally involved or very embarrassed in these cases, and at the end they are incapable of seeing the situation from a different perspective than yours. You put a lot of faith in me to tell me about it, I thank you for that.”

Sonia sought for a way to ease the drama of the topic, not that she regretted have confided in Damien, who was really only a “stranger”, indeed, she was glad; however, she believed that she would have the opportunity to talk to him on more occasions, since she was about to become a new customer of his, therefore she would have met him again.

She approached the counter and saw that strange metal object on which Damien was working before she entered the store. She picked it up and asked him what it was.

It was then that he moved closer to her, took her hand which held the basic atomizer with the mounted resistance and at that moment the resistance became incandescent.

Sonia, frightened, immediately dropped it into Damien’s palm who sharply said:

“Be careful! I forgot to turn it off – he lied – luckily you didn’t burn yourself, I’m sorry.”

“No excuse me, - said Sonia, who at that point assumed that the object had an internal battery – I shouldn’t have touched it, it’s my fault, anyhow I’m not hurt.”

Damien shook his head. This shouldn’t have happened.

His heart could have resisted her beauty, but not the heart of that atomizer, which had not put up a strong resistance to her.