“Why don’t you live a little, Dorian?”
Was interrupted by a deep laconic whisper from it. He opened his eyes and saw her hand absent but instead, there was a towering hairless figure stood behind him. Arching over his shoulder.
A pile of bright yellow bulk of mass with intimidating brood shoulders. Jelly bump of a belly. Bare-chested. The bastard pot-smoker. That’s what it was. Like it were generated by hallucinogenic paranoia. If you were smoking the pot, your mind was a psychedelia induced blender. Instead of a food grinding blender, your mind was stirring drug induced surreal delusions, metaphorically speaking.
Dorian threw a hostile stare towards what he dubbed, Y-pS, yellow pot smoker like it were a chemical equation, but he come to call it as, Can- short for Cannabis.
“Go f*** yourself!” Followed by a flip of the middle finger.
Can’s piercing eyes stared at Dorian and then it instantly grabbed hold of his neck and replied with such fearful menace.
“Do you want me to drill you?” Despite a strong, aggressive grip.
Dorian’s eyes grew listless, he didn’t care. He wasn’t frightened but only light-minded. Gently gestured with a roll forward of his chin and back, “go for it.” Dorian knew, or had come to believe that Can was a delusional being created from the depth of his pot smoking addiction. Just as the hallucinogenic fever began to ran dry, Can would began to warp and then fade away in a cloud of yellow smoke.
Just before Can faded away completely, his voice dissolved to a whisper. It’s yellow-gold eyes directed towards the drug pipe.
“Feed the urge… Smoke the pot…”