She’s rushing back in a shitty Uber. Her dealer should be at the location by now. Why did she give him her home address anyway? She remembers that it isn’t the first time she’s meeting her dealer here. Oh well.
There he is. Standing in the sun, wiping sweat from his brow ( he stinks ewww ), exclaims loudly, “What Madam! How much waiting?” He’s complaining that he’s been standing at the spot for YEARS now. He doesn’t look much older than last week though. Strange.
The rate is fixed but she wonders how this shit has become so expensive. Blame the pandemic for fucking everything up. Hash used to be 2.5 or 3k for 1T. Now it’s 6k. And the even “better” variety is supposed to be 8k. Who the fuck is able to afford this shit nowadays anyway? Insanity. Why is he cramming the hash into her bare hands in broad daylight?! Those two guys on the bike just turned around – did they see? Are they undercover cops? OMG why isn’t weed decriminalized in India anyway? The biker boys are just staring at her. Why can’t she simply stop wearing such skimpy clothes? But it’s so hot in Delhi. How is anyone expected to wear so many clothes? It’s not like she’s naked. She wishes she was on a beach in Goa. Skimpier.
She climbs the two flights of stairs to her rented apartment. The cat is yowling & the dog is wagging his entire body. Her boyfriend opens the door. He’s already stoned. Her best friend is sitting at the table. Also stoned. Always late to the party, because WORK. Why do clients want to have meetings on a fucking weekend? Anyway, she’s back home. It’s cool even though it’s the peak of summers but that’s because the entire living room wall is wet with seepage from an overhead water tank that burst a few months ago. Who needs a cooler when you have shitty landlords!
She changes out of her skimpy clothes, gets rid of all her underwear, gets into her super short shorts and ganji and traipses out into the living room. A chilled bottle of beer appears. The fan is on full speed. There’s too much smoke in the living room, must open a window. And a door. Why aren’t the boys playing any music? What’s the point of getting high without music?
Why is her mother calling her up now? Must be something about her biryani shop. If she cannot run it on her own, why bother? No one else in the family seems bothered enough to help her. As she’s talking with her mom, she gets a WhatsApp text from her Dad. It is accompanied with a picture. It is her Dad, standing in the midst of naked sadhus in Varanasi. Her Dad is definitely overdressed. What was it that her ex-husband used to say? “I only know one person crazier than you Sandy and that’s your Dad.” Heh. Thankfully they broke things up peacefully else she’d be spending too much time gouging out the eyes from his voodoo doll.
The 1T was ordered for an acquaintance. Sandy’s shared her address. Acquaintance should be here any minute. Should she wear a bra? Nah. Too much effort. Acquaintance arrives. Beer is shared. A cigarette is lit. One drag of the joint. The acquaintance is high already. These people need to get a life. How can anyone get high in ONE fucking drag?! She’s picking ticks out of Sandy’s dog now, except, they’re not ticks, they’re scabs from where the dog hurt itself a few months ago. There’s a few yelps. Stoned people shouldn’t try to be useful.
A jar of vaseline shows up on the dining table. Sandy’s got a new tattoo. Who the fuck gets a tattoo of a petal that is blue? Are there any blue petals in nature? What the fuck was the tattoo artist thinking? But it’s pretty. It was Sandy’s idea after all. Has to be pretty. She’s awesome, so, everything she does is awesome.
But a blue petal?
