You've been drinking like the world was gonna end
Adam looked at the little jar with an incredulous smirk, knowing a swindle when he saw one. There was barely enough powder there for one nostril on a sober night, no matter what it was. But still, he admired Nate trying, and he could relate, in a way; he'd done plenty of desperate haggling in his time.
"Adam Pikely." He introduced himself (he had begun to grow bored of his own long introductions and now only did them on days he could care), looking confused down at the tap on his arms. "And look...don't make a habit of this and don't go spreading it around, but I'm not gonna take your shitty tiny amount of whatever that is. Sit down." He tilted his head to the wall next to him then began to roll up a new smoke, this one for Nate.
"So come on then. Tell me your fucking tale of woe. Everyone's got one." He passed a wonky joint to Nate, first holding it up for Coffee to fly by and blow a little puff of fire on it to light it.
Adam
It didn't.
