Of dope smoke. A hotel room where we sat
passing a joint and drinking coke. We'd graze
on day-old pizza, meat-ball subs, and chat
about the cute boy who'd brought round the weed
and how his chin fluff felt when he gave head.
Some guy was keeping them. Their every need
was taken care of, so they stayed in bed
and had friends round, and you became their friend
by going round and smoking. I went there
with Tiffany; I think they'd sometimes send
her out to bring new blood. They'd brush their hair
for hours, happy. And I think that this
was Paradise for them, unending bliss.