All men want is something to suck on, anything to keep themselves preoccupied. Give them a cigar and they'll be doing just that. All they need is a box of cigars next to them and they'll lay for hours, puffing and watching the smoke drift away in the air like their thoughts. It's easy to smoke and use up the day with so they don't have to think much.
Lost in relaxation they lose any sort of modesty, not caring what anyone thinks about the state of their body. They quickly lose their shirts, leaving their torsos naked and exposed to the smoke. Their forms begin to change, weathering and aging with creases. A beard pushes onto their face around the thick pipe that never leaves their mouth, only giving more places for the clouds to land. Their eyes lose focus, the light behind them fading and glazing over like empty glass.
Soon they don't know how to spend any time doing anything but this, letting their body soak in the smoke and distract them from the rest of their life. Their minds begin to grow slower and slower, weighed down by the constant fog of nicotine in their head. They forget their old lives, burned up like the tips of their stogies as everything else loses matter to them. All that's left is a dumb smoking hick that spends all day outside smoking.