"What?!" Janie exclaimed incredulously.

   "I'm going to Hell. Wanna come?"

   Haqirs began to sprout from the holes in his arm. These strawberry-blonde hairs grew at an incredible rate. In several seconds, they reached a length of an inch, where they suddenly ceased their growth and simply began an undulating dance upon his arm.

   "Wha... huh?" she managed to grunt. She collapsed.

   "I guess Janie doesn't want to come." He let out a sigh. "Well, Tequila, I guess it's you an' me." The bottle of liquor stared hard, reminding him of various nights he could only dimly recall. It also reminded him of the hard mornings after. Fucking Tequila was only tolerable if he fucked Mary Jane the next morning.

   "Come on. Get in the car, Tequila."

   The bottle rolled off the countertop, but in lieu of breaking, bounced its way out the door and jumped into the car, a baby-blue 1967 Cadillac El Dorado convertible. The upholstry reaked of pot, crack, cheese, beer, and some more sublime, acrid scents. The bottle jumped into the passenger seat. Its friend melted his way through the walls of his house on Addiction Street, in Crackton, USA. The lights of the night shone through him as he trailed into energy that was matter, then energy that wasn't matter, then energy that wasn't at all. Maneuvering through chaos rejioned his consciousness to reality. But psychedelia is barely reality anyhow, so he just got into his car and forgot about it.

   Tequila burned forth a question.

   "Don't burn yourself up like that. I'll get less drunk that way."

   Indignant, Tequila spat at him and demanded an answer.

   "Goddamnit, you're impatient. For Christ's sake, we'll smoke some Buddha before we go."

   Tequila rattled with excitement as he pulled out the burb. And this was the burb, for the stem was shaped like a flowing river, and was a clear aquatic blue. The bowl, a whirlpool of elegance, into which descended both flame and as much as an eighth of dense weed, beckoned to to all who laid visions upon it to descend into the murky depths of the water pipe. Massive amounts of blue-haired purple kush burned into grey mists which wrapped themselves around the lungs of this fine young stoner. Or was he old? The bottle didn't know; alcohol is more concerned with experience than with age. It smashes all equally, but some drunks are more equal than others. But no time to think; here comes the weed!

   Taking the pipe, Tequila inhaled deeply through her neck, as the flame of heaven met dry bud. Burning smoke rolled through the liquid within, then she exhaled a great cloud.

   "Hmm.." The stoned youth gave a pause, then a thought. Then a cough. "You look almost... like... a bong."

   Tequila giggled and rattled. She looked at him with intent. He stared hard, knowingly, with a serial killer's glee.

   "Here, Tequila. Take another hit."

   He handed the pipe to her, without taking a hit of his own. Tequila, already blazed from the bud and drunk on herself, hardly noticed, and dragged another cloud.

   Suddenly, he grabbed the bottle's mouth. Gagging, she squirmed under his grasp, but he held firm. Grabbing her around her body, he picked her up and shook her violently, still suffocating her. Then, with one motion, he kissed her open mouth and sucked out smoke and vital life-giving fluids from within her body. Tequila ceased to struggle.

   "Ah, Tequila!" He sighed to her limp body. "You were a dear, sweet friend for a time. But, as all must come to an end, so did you." He paused. "Heh." He gazed, lazily, with a grin. "We only hurt the ones we love, don't we?"

   He grinned, and tossed her out the window. Then he sped off.