mon: +4, I’ve got an 8-ball around here somewhere [scanning round apartment from central vantage point of dining/hall/living confluents [sicstet]], a sixteenth, too. I always flush a couple and don’t touch it until I wait four/five hours after I’m out.

Wasn’t just yesterday; this is the worstly poisoned struff I’ve ever encountered (i.e. vaporeyed);; it’s nauseated me again. Mel-E Mell said, “This stuff has aspirin in it. It bumps good, though.”

She said a couple of other interesting things this aft. Real gems, I say. The first below came directly out of the one above; she let me hit a load of some new sample stash she had on hand–and in her clean stem–and I sighed out a smoggy appreciation of the flavor & feel: “Ahnow that’s the taste.”
- “If you ever come across some shit that smells like potatoes, buy it. That’s the best you can get. It smells like…you know those things old people have down there to store stuff?” –”Like a cellar?” “Yeah, it smells like one of those full of potatoes. It’s that pure.” (Sounds like Ivory soap’s long-running marketing claim/sloag.)

- [Second goodwon’s goodness doesn’t depend so much on accurately quoted wording as it does on the revelation of a fact of her and possibly those of other persons of her chosen profession, and that is…:] Her busiest time of day is between 2:00 and 4:00 PM. Yes, PM. The afternoon. I was surprised, thinking after sundown and then again in the jonesing zone in the wee hours. Her explanation?: “rush hour.”

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