Both her mother and brother were artists, it turned out, and most of the work around the room was their's."Hey, Mick, you want some wine instead?" she...called from the tiny kitchen."Sure," he replied, "say? You smoke dope?"Her head appeared around the door. "You got some?" she smiled.Mick rolled them a joint and they smoked it, washing it down with some cheap cask wine."It's good," she said, leaning on his shoulder, "I'm really floating. It's so hard to get good shit these days." Not that hard. I didn't want to see any of them. Ididn't want to ask what Sam had said to Aunt Melissa. I knew if I sawher that I'd be compelled to ask. Not out of any sense of obligation,but because I really wanted to know. I hated myself for caring. I walkedaround for a bit, smiling vaguely at those enjoying themselves andfinally decided to bite the bullet and head on home.As I walked, I lit my fifth cigarette of the day. For the most part, thesmoke kept people away. Smoking was no longer an acceptable. More

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