One large, brown hand held a glass water-pipe, with a blend of opium and chanvre-indiens filling its brass bowl. He took a slow, deepinhalation of smo...e, held it in his lungs for a minute before exhaling. The fumes circled above his head like an evanescent halo.There was a roaring fire in the hearth, soft jazz saxophone on the stereo,just as there was a year ago. How swiftly the months had flown. Setting his pipe on a low, round table, Master Shabaz took a seat in front of the fireplace. Then,. “And you’re an expert on this are you?”“David,” she said, looking at me seriously, tears starting to form, “my mother had me whoring myself for parts, almost as soon as the first hairs appeared on my cunt. I know all about fucked up young lives. Don’t do the same to yours, or Cal’s. Or Kathy’s for that matter.”I’d never heard her use that sort of language before.“Charlie,” I said, “I’m sorry. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my own problems, I forget other people have them as. More

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