"Hur! That was good shit you got hold of. Where did you say it came from?"
"Some guy." Dilbo massaged his left eye back into shape. "Don't know his name and I haven't seen him around before. He said it was a free taster."
"Free?" Sam frowned. "You said it cost you fifty and made me give you half."
"So?" Dilbo turned away from the mirror and switched the CD player on. Death Metal filled the room until the banging from the upstairs flat forced him to turn the volume down. He turned back to Sam, his hands in a customary Air Guitar pose. "Tell me you didn't have a pony's worth last night."
"I suppose." Sam continued to frown. "It just feels like you're diddling me."
Dilbo waggled his fingers, tucking his teeth over his bottom lip in a suggestion of lewdness. "As if," he said. "I wouldn't touch yours with a monkey's. What's wrong with your face?"
"Nothing. Why?" Sam stood to look in the mirror. His face was still set into the frown and he massaged it out with his fingertips. "My skin feels funny," he said, scratching his chest. "Is there any of that weed left?"
"Don't think so." Dilbert scratched his groin area and headed to the bathroom. "There might be a bit left in the ashtray. I don't remember hitting the roach on the last one and you'd already passed out by the end of the 'Lost' marathon.
"Cheers." Sam rooted in the ashtray and found a spliff with an inch left on it. He lit up, taking half a lungful of smoke and half a lungful of air sucked between clenched teeth. He held the smoke for a few seconds before expelling it in a rush then coughed, a ball of phlegm sailing out onto the arm of the sofa. He wrinkled his nose and was about to wipe it away with his sleeve when he realised it was flecked with lumps of brownish grey. "Dilbo?" he said. "I think I just coughed a bit of my lungs up."