First light hits you like a shot of espresso chased with chili powder. Bam, here’s your wake-up call. The first third is all leather, earth, and spice, but not in that dainty “culinary journey” way. It’s more like licking the inside of a Harley rider’s glove—gritty, punchy, and unapologetically Camacho. Midway through, things calm the hell down. Cedar, toast, and a little sweetness roll in, probably to stop you from tapping out early. It’s not Davidoff-smooth, but it’s not a chainsaw to the palate either. Think belt sander with decent control. Final third? It tries to be profound, like a drunk uncle telling war stories. Pepper ramps up, some cocoa comes in, and then it just kind of… hangs out. Not a grand finale, but a respectable fade-out. Construction’s tight, burn’s decent, and the retrohale will remind you you’re alive. Price? Pushing it a little, but at least it doesn’t feel like a dressed-up bundle stick pretending to be special. It’s not a masterpiece. But it’s got balls, attitude, and enough flavor to keep you from scrolling your phone every five minutes. If you like your cigars loud and proud with a middle finger to subtlety, this one’s for you.