Whenever he finds it, he wants to smell it. He closes his eyes and colours, visions and all other shit appear. He then grinds them finely, does it slow. Takes a piece of paper, makes a nice “m” shape and rolls it in his hands for a while to form a decent roach. He then distributes it on the thin paper evenly with not even a single bump or other imperfections. Closes his eyes again, licks the glued side and seals it properly, forming a cone. Packs it up with a stick, wraps it nicely like a lollipop. Picks up a lighter, lights it up and…he’s in another World. His anxiety is gone, his worries are faded away and his mind is fully open. He’s ready, for whatever comes. And he loves it. He’s the weedhead.