““Us Dutch, we like a smoke, huh?” He heated a cigarette with a lighter flame and blew through it, expelling the redundant nicotine, tar and moisture in noxious wafts. “Gotta toast the tobacco.” “I never saw that before.” Hans watched, fascinated. “Folks smoke it pure back home.” “That’s okay for grass, man, but for flat press you need some tobacco.” “Flat press?” “Ja.” Marcel tossed him a light-brown block the size of a matchbox. “Moroccan hashish. Crushed pollen, high THC content, almost the b...est you can get.” “And the best?” “Number One – from Pakistan. Looks like an after-dinner mint. You don’t see much of it in Europe.” “How come you know so much?” “You really wanna know?” Marcel sparked the reefer, took a couple of puffs and passed it to Hans. “I’ll show you.” He went into the cabin, emerging seconds later with an underwater flashlight, diving mask and fins. Flopping over the side, he looked like a fat frog on a mission. Seconds ticked by before he surfaced.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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