If you sow madness in your backyard, know that I'm the fertilizer. If you reap madness, know that I'm the fruit.
The white stick demanded to be smoked, it was luring me somehow and images of my father smoking one at the end of every day inspired me. Most sons try to impersonate their fathers, in matters good and bad, they are their heroes, after all. I smoked one, the first drag parched my throat, a cough rose from my belly, but I desperately tried to suppress it.