Thick clouds of smoke wafted around the room, giving the dim basement a greyish haze. Across from you, a few stripes of afternoon sunlight escaped from a single, dirty window, glowing through the smoke and making the whole scene oddly dreamlike.

Then again, it could have also been the weed.

You took another hit. Exhaled. Ever since that divorce with The Bitch, Dude had managed to score temporary refuge in a little room below Lucky Ganesh. Sure, it was a bit cramped, what with all the guns, mysterious crates, and occasional strangers wandering around, but it was "still better than that shithole trailer"---so he claimed. You sure didn't mind, as long as you two still hung out.

Dude lazily took the blunt from your fingers, having sunk himself into the cushions beside you. His head tipped back with a relieved sigh. With his feet propped up on the coffee table, hands folded behind his head, and wrinkled Krotchy shirt riding up his stomach, he looked like the picture of relaxation.

Dude playfully blew a bitter cloud at your face.

"I needed this," he contentedly purred.