Eric took the pipe and gave it a look-over.
Nice, he thought. Looked artisinal. Felt very comfortable in the hand. Plenty of room to hold its cargo while the curve of the bowl would keep the flame from getting too buried its fuel.
“Do you sell these in the gift shop?” he asked.
Eric remembered that it had actually been hard for him to inhale the first few times he’d tried anything, way back when. He’d always held it in the back of his throat and then exhaled it, instinctively, rather than really breathing it in and then breathing out. He hadn’t been a natural at drugs. It had taken a while. He’d been, as with most things in life, a late bloomer.
But oh could he catch up.
He drew the smoke in easily, breathed out. Drew it in, breathed out. “I’m good at something, fuckers,” he thought before feeling too good to be angry at anything. “The world shouldn’t be so damn hard. Some of us just want to play …”