kiffy

Sniff the coke man, far-sighted in haze, passes me at the bar.

Sniff is headed for the door, breaks fleet for staircase landing rendezvous.

The circle is triangular, tight, engaged.

He is elsewhere, till I commence operation "Shirley's Fucking Temple."

My greeting goes as such:

"Hey sniffles, where does one acquire the proper materials to cause such nasal discomfort?"

"I got everything. Coke, Molly, Green."

"Around here?"

"Hell yeah around here. This is Portland."

"This is Portland."