Death of a Salesman
I went to the mechanic's shop to get my wheel's aligned, which didn't happen since they closed before they could get to me, and I brought the Khalil Mamoon On the Rocks out for a sesh while I waited.
Got everything ready at home and shipped off towards Lincoln and Beach, with my hookah and Three Kings in hand. Parked in the front, far enough from the shop that I could smoke, but not enough that it would deter Peeping Toms.
It took me less than a minute to get those coals started, and less than thirty seconds to get that Kashmir Peach smokin'. By this time, I had attracted several workers on break, all of them asking me in a Viet accent, "what that?" Of course, I educated them on the hookah and offered them some, but they politely refused. For a good ten minutes, they crowded around me, marveling at that old On the Rocks. A few of them asked me the question that gets blood boiling, but instead of flipping a bitch, I kindly explained that to do so would risk ruining a good hookah.
The crowds died off and made way for the rain.
Coals littered the ground as I hurried to shelter the pipe and they quickly went out with a sizzle. Interesting session, although I would've enjoyed it more if my work buddies had been around. Sadly, they were down the street, less than a mile, confined in the stroller shop. I wept.
Oh, and Scoop, thanks again. 8)