A was the shape of Matterhorn on the box of menthol cigarettes called Alpine. Green promised healthy, deep breaths of mountain air. I once smoked half an Alpine, the effect queasy rather than cool. Kool was another menthol brand. Now smoking would sicken me, but I went through phases, once. Roll-your-owns were artistry; Camel was a caustic experience. I even had a Sobranie period, more money than sense. The crackle of Indonesian clove kreteks were rich as an April morning. Nowadays a box, thrown on the footpath, is covered in diseased lung or black throat – the visual antonym of Alpine.