The Cheapest Cigarettes: by Brett Adams

date: Fall, 2005
location: Santa Barbara, CA
contact: brett@theriotbefore.com

A few years ago I wrote a song called “The Cheapest Cigarettes” about a homeless man I encountered while waiting in line at a gas station on a rainy fall day in Santa Barbara. In my periphery I could see a man waiting directly behind me, his ragged clothing and unkempt beard and hair hinted at homelessness, while the two tall cans of Steel Reserve Malt Liquor he was preparing to purchase gave further credence to my suspicions. He noticed my investigation and the next time my dodgy, uncommitted glance came his way he met it straight on, his eyes firmly fixed yet bright and happily, contrasted sharply with his dirty cheeks. He smiled, said hello, asked me how I was. Caught off guard by his sincere and unexpected enthusiasm, my mouth filled instantly with clichés. “Fine, how are you?” “Well, I just got off of work, so I’m doing much better.” Work. He had a job. I threw out the erroneous conclusions I had reached about him only a moment before and inquired about his work. He told me that he had been doing roofing all that day and when I commented that it must have been tough considering the rain he responded, “Yeah, but a day of work is better than no days at all.” Profound. I agreed, not really sure what to say, positive that whatever it would be it would only diminish the quality of the conversation. I paid for my soda, said goodbye, and walked out of the gas station, ashamed, inspired. Just before the door closed behind me I heard the man ask the cashier for a pack of the cheapest cigarettes.

I drove back to my dorm room and thought about all that had happened in that powerful minute. Here was a man who was most likely infrequently employed at best (Near the gas station was the place where day laborers wait in hope that someone will pick them up for work that day. I was pretty sure that this man did the same, and as a result, due to the extremely high cost of living in Santa Barbara, probably was homeless in spite of the occasional job), most likely struggled every day just to meet his basic needs, probably failed to meet them all most days, and yet, in spite of his condition, was happy, outgoing, optimistic. I humbly drove back to my private college, to the abundant food I so often complained about, to the privileged stress of schoolwork. It occurred to me that this man lived inches from ruin everyday, with a real genuine threat of insecurity, and yet managed, in that moment, to be happy. While I, a semester away from graduation, fretted and worried endlessly about venturing off into the great “unknown” of life after school, but I knew that if anything actually went wrong, I’d have a whole host of friends and family to support me. I had a safety net just about everywhere I looked and this man had none. He deserved one. Probably more than I did. I realized that my safety net was large enough for more than just me and that I was obligated to help others with all the excess that I had. I forget that a lot and singing this song at shows helps remind me.

The Cheapest Cigarettes
By Brett Adams and The Riot Before

Listen to it!




Two tall cans and the cheapest cigarettes to relieve
An honest man and another honest day of working.

It'll help him through the night;
It'll help him get some sleep.

Then he's up again and he's standing on the corner hoping
His dirty hands can once again earn him a living.
Then it's to the liquor store
Another night spent on the street

Then a thought occurs to me
With a knot inside my throat I balance on
A rope thinner than feet a thousand feet above
A canyon floor with one exception;
Everyone can clearly see the safety net waiting
For my falling body.

Look deep inside of muscles sore; there's acid eating
But there's still life in spite of everything retreating
Because a day of work still beats
Not having any days at all.

What good is pride? It never stopped a stomach aching
What good are rights when all you want is to be eating?
A little shelter from the rain
A little comfort in the cold
A stubborn thought it sickens me

And I never learned a better lesson
Than what I can't articulate about a smile and a sense of something better
In what should be desolate and desperate
Disenfranchised and disappointing and so distraught

I'm a fake a fraud a phony every step I take
In a broken smile, he reminded me
My net is bigger than a falling body.
My hands are clean but my soul is dirty.

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The Riot Before

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