My father smoked a pipe , his big brown pipe he used to sit in his chair right next to the fire, puffs of smoke swirled round and round like a tornado. Brown tabacco stains on the ceiling like clouds in a beautiful summer sky. His brown leather chair rest softly on the edge of the white fluffy rug which looked rather like a skinned chicken layed carefully on the floor , it was my fathers special ritual , I love my dad . Thanks mr Gaul
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