I'm in a seedy bar with my non-alcoholic friend (work-mate), who just wants a soda and to play a few rounds of pool. After a beer or two, I'm off to take a well deserved after work slash. Door won't open. Someone's got his foot up against the door. I wait a minute or three.. still hogging the urinal I need. I try again and the door opens onto two suited men well over 6 feet apiece, one white one black (kinda like the hoods from Pulp Fiction, only... real).
After finishing my long craning neck movement upward to look at these "gentlemen", I politely nod and apologize for the intrusion and proceed to wee... reluctantly, but without fear. These guys would smell it. I could hear the tone of their psychic conversation. It was the language of long time combat soldiers.
"Hey. You smoke weed?" The tail. My ponytail.
Still streaming, "Yeah, I've been known to partake..."
"Take your time then. Well have this ready in a minute."
I slowed myself. Wasn't 2/3 rds done when they start chatting about a past job, that seemed to imply... confrontation.
I zip up. My friend, who used to bounce there before someone got killed, tried the door and asked if I was okay.
I said I was under no duress, and in many calm and convincing ways. He could've easily rammed the door open, being 250 pounds of former football muscle and months of Roy Roger's "Trigger-Burger" handouts at the end of the day. I was relieved he believed me. These intimidators were skilled. Their body language screamed close-quarters combat, despite their size in this glorified water closet.
The joint was finished. It's ingredients were very dense, but sufficiently crumbled.
The joint was good. The tall men spoke little, but there was an understanding of peace. Perhaps they were atoning for the day's earlier transgressions. Maybe they didn't have a fuck to give, either. I left like a gentleman after two hits and a thank you... this was 21st century grade stuff in the early 1990's, of which I was not used to.
Floating out gingerly, as to keep the aroma encased, I almost tripped into my sweat smelling friend. He was the other reason I left the session early. Who knows what fate would've transpired had I stayed the course.
The rest of that early morning weekday flowed, as memory does, quietly into obscurity.
Okay, my subcontinental cousin, there's your story. May it bring something new to you.