Her feet are constantly surrounded by broken glass or extinguished joints, as if her fingers sweated KY. She inexplicably insists on standing directly in the closest source of moisture -- usually a puddle of beer she spilled -- just to make sure no accident is redeemed.
You think you remember seeing this dude in the background of the party. But you don’t remember inviting him outside. Yet, suddenly, he’s materialized in your circle. He is neither rude nor friendly. He neither smiles nor frowns, instead nodding approvingly while following the joint’s progress around the circle. When it’s all over, he’s gone in a cloud of smoke -- like your joint -- never to be seen again.
The Solo Artist
Lighting up the joint casually, as if it was a cigarette, he nonchalantly stands in the crowd, talking, gesturing, puffing... but never passing. The minute your piece comes out, however, he’s the first person to get in line.