“What do you take me for? This is the kind herb, man. Got a hell of a kick to it.”From her Australian accent, I could tell she was from down under... She held out the herb for me to sniff. She was right. That lusty smell, a cross between a skunk and a pussy.“Deal,” I said, handing her a twenty. She grinned.I would have suggested she offer the Rasta guys some, but when I looked away for a half a second she vanished. I could have sworn I saw a momentary flickering of firelight on the brick wall. We ate, filling the room with munching and moaning: yes, it was that good. ‘Your right,’ I sighed, ‘I didn’t cook this. It tasted amazing. I must be delusional.’ ‘Agreed, you’re crazy,’ she said as I took our clean plates, ‘do crazy people have cable? Or is that a sane people thing?’ She grabbed her beer and headed for the Japanese Katatsu–a Japanese low lying table that has a quilt sandwiched underneath the top–in front of the TV. ‘No cable,’ I replied, ‘Netflix’s on the Xbox though.’ I. More

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