The little room entered through a small corner tobacco shop in the Zona Colonia has four men inside. One is reading the paper, another is watching the cigars being made, two are working – making cigars, by hand, one at a time. 

” He is muy rapidio, ” I remark.

” He can do 300 in a day if we don’t talk to him, ” one of the non-workers says.

By the look on both men’s faces, who are working, they must be paid by the cigar. They are intent on what they are doing, responsible for making cigars so people that smoke them won’t see any flaws.

This workplace smells like tobacco. Leaves are in a press on the floor, on the desk of the man on the right in the gold colored shirt,  on the work table of the man in the blue shirt.. It appears the two workers are a team. One man makes the rough cigars, stores them in a wood sleeve for the other man to draw from, and finish. The tools both men use are simple and not any different from what they might have used a hundred years ago. 

I watch the finish man pick several cigars up from his finished stack to check the smoking end to make sure, once lit, the cigar will draw air and keep its combustion.

These men take pride in their work.

If I was a cigar smoker, I would like to smoke the ones these guys made the day I watch them.

Men will turn themselves into machines if it profits them.





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