I am reading Stephen King's novel, 11/22/63 about the Kennedy assassination which involves time travel to the 1950's (well it is Stephen King after all).
I list a few of these 'snapshots' below. Be interesting to see if they survive if it's ever made into a movie:
The father and the son exchanged an amused glance that made me think of an old joke. Tourist from Chicago driving a fancy sportscar pulls up to a farmhouse way out in the country. Old farmer’s sitting on the porch, smoking a corncob pipe. Tourist leans out of his Jaguar and asks, “ Say, oldtimer, can you tell me how to get to East Machias?” Old farmer puffs thoughtfully on his pipe a time or two, then says, “ Don’tcha move a goddam inch.”
A fellow I took to be the proprietor was sitting in one of the rocking chairs, smoking a pipe and looking across at me. He wore a strap-style tee-shirt and baggy brown slacks. He also wore a goatee, which I thought equally audacious for this particular island in the time-stream. His hair, although combed back and held in place with some sort of grease, curled down to the nape of his neck and made me think of some old rock-and-roll video I’d seen: Jerry Lee Lewis jumping on his piano as he sang “ Great Balls of Fire.” The proprietor of the Jolly White Elephant probably had a reputation as the town beatnik. I tipped a finger to him. He gave me the faintest of nods and went on puffing his pipe.
“Morning,” I said. “Well, it’s actually afternoon, but whatever makes you happy.” He puffed his pipe, and that light late-summer breeze brought me a whiff of Cherry Blend. Also a memory of my grandfather, who used to smoke it when I was a kid. He sometimes blew it in my ear to quell the earache, a treatment that was probably not AMA-approved.
I saw women wearing overcoats and galoshes taking in laundry on a gray afternoon when rain threatened; I saw long passenger trains with names like The Southern Flyer and Star of Tampa charging toward those American climes where winter is not allowed. I saw old men smoking pipes on benches in town squares.
He dragged his pipe out of the pocket of his cardigan, stuffed it with Prince Albert, and fired it up.
Toward the end of the meal, as Deke stuffed his pipe with Prince Albert, Ellie lifted a tote she had stored under the table and produced a large book, which she passed above the greasy remains of our meal.
“Yeah,” he said. He rummaged his pipe out of his breast pocket. “ Yeah, I know that. I’m just blowin off steam.
I drove to Deke’s before going home. He was sitting on his front porch in his pajamas, smoking a final pipe.
I stopped by Titus Chevron, panting. Across the street, the beatnik proprietor of the Jolly White Elephant was smoking his pipe and watching me.