My friend Rod picks me up at the airport. We thought he would only have to take me as far as his house, because I remember that my big red truck was there. But when we arrive, there are several similar trucks, but each distinctly different from mine. It seems that Rod has to deliver me to my house.

As we are driving along a long straight road, he pulls out a pipe and starts smoking pot. Of course I abstain. Then we go into a restaurant, like a diner, but it is late evening and the only people there are a waitress and a cook. The waitress remarks on the strange smell, which I know is because of the pot smoke.

"Yes," I say, "I know. It's him, he always smells like that. It's because of this skin cream that he uses. It smells funny, but it makes his skin silky and smooth, so he likes it. It bothers me too at first, but after I few minutes I get used to it."

"Oh yeah," says the waitress with good-natured sarcasm, and pulls out her own bag of pot to smoke.