Cigar Box

I have a cigar box on my desk.

I do not smoke cigars. I never saw cigars in this particular box.

It carries, instead, slips of paper, business cards with scrawl on the back, torn napkin shreds, and all the other various loose notes and ideas and thoughts and tidbits I've run across during my life.

There was, at a powwow I recently attended, a wonderful cigar box, and I wanted one, but they weren't selling these and a long way from emptying that box (which was, regrettably, already promised to another).

I do not smoke cigars. I want that box. I can't remember the brand. (For the record, it's one of the few I've seen that is taller than wide, and holds its products vertically, and I'd never seen it before or since.)

If I can discover the name of the brand, I'll let you know. If you, the cigar smokers out there, can empty one of these boxes for me and forward said empty box to my address, I'd be very appreciative.

Thank you.

(For the record, a cigar box features prominently in one of my short stories, which is currently on the desk of the first editor to whom I submitted it.)