Hash and Hollywood.

We hit some bars by my place. We stayed in the Burgundy Room. It was good drinking with Mick. The bar was full so we sat at a table and talked about great, dead men.

We moved to the bar. Mick was sitting next to a huge black man straight out of 1930s Harlem. He was smooth. They were talking low to each other. I was sitting on the corner next to Mick. I knew what they were doing but I didn’t know what they were doing it over. Mick leaned over to me.

“Hey, man. Let me borrow twenty bucks, I’m a little short for this.”

“For what?”

1930 opened his big palm under the bar. I looked under casually. A large black egg of hash. Mick looked at me and nodded. I gave him a twenty, the deal was made under the bar, and Mick was happy with the deal. He kept giving me sly looks. Back at the booth we talked to a couple of girls but nothing was going to happen with them. Before we got to my place, he hit an ATM and gave me a twenty. Upstairs he sat on the box and broke the hash apart, drunk. He looked like a giant squirrel.

“Man. A hundred and twenty five bucks for a two golf ball chunk.”

“That’s a good deal?”

He kept breaking the hash, “Hell yeah, it is.”

Meg rose to his lap and sniffed the hash. She sneezed and crawled under my chair. Mick mixed in some of the egg with some weed and rolled it. He lit the end and inhaled. He held it out to me. I took a hit.

“You don’t get high that much, huh?”

“Not really,” I passed it back.

He took another hit and handed it back over.

“You’ll be good and high tonight.”

“Fuck it,” I said, “When in Rome.”

We heard gunshots and he laughed.