(wherein our non-existent hero learns a valuable lesson about how the things we love sometimes love each other whether we want them too or not...)

i do enjoy some good tobacco... i buy a relatively expensive blend, organic... & handroll cigarettes... i was once addicted, now i enjoy one, every once in a while...

i do enjoy some good changa... i make-a my own, & it's delicious... i pack pipes...

towards the end of a pouch of tobacco, it gets a bit stale... i put the stale bits in a pile to the side of my tray, save them for hard times... like now... not that times are particularly hard right now, but it's 30 miles to the nearest store, and it won't be open for another 9 hours... so i'ma smoke out of the pile...

except...

that i've been packing pipes of changa on the same tray, and ze tobacco & ze stray bits of changa have been having themselves a little orgy, right over there in the corner...

& i really just want a fuckin' smoke...

Axe me a question, I'll give you an answer. A gentleman is a man who knows how to play the accordion, but doesn't. I feel ya, brother.

Just have a fuckin smoke then! Go on, punk! I dare ya!

i tried to have a smoke... & it tasted just like changa, without hyperspace... no damn bueno... but every silver lining's got a touch of grey...

after a bowl of changa, i didn't mind that taste in the ciggy-smoke so much...

problem solved...

for now...