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    Summary

    It became a skill that got the occasional mileage. (Paz – occupational hazard and covert jokester – had startled him in his implementation of it one night and, after getting over his alarm at the profusion of smoke being hastily vented from Din’s helm, had dissolved into helpless guffaws before joining him for a hit or three.) He liked the way, on those nights that the kid got rotated around the gaggle of those he trusted, that a joint loosened his limbs and made the everpresent aching go away.

    The way it freed his thoughts and made him think of indulgent, soft things.

    (Or, the one where Din figures out how to hotbox his buy'ce and things progress from there.)

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