Talk to nice sleep.

Desmond had only ever smoked cannabis on one occasion.

At a high school party 20 years ago.

The drug had not agreed with him.

It had resulted in Desmond puking into a kitchen sink in front of his high school crush.

He had steered clear of it ever since, and yet, two decades later, the smell of pot still made

him nauseous. The human brain is funny about that kind of thing, about what it remembers and

what it forgets, and the way events and feelings and sensations get all tangled together

in one's neural networks. That explained why, as his dealer opened the front door,

the overwhelming odor of cannabis from within the apartment made Desmond wince and swoon.

It was as if the smell had magically brought him back in time to his teens, and his stomach clenched.

He held his breath for as long as he could as he followed the dealer inside.

"'Tapper-looking suit, man,' said the dealer.

"'You just coming from the office?'

"'Head in there now, actually.

Gonna be a long night, big fire to put out.

"'Bummer.

But I thought you were some kind of lawyer.

It's not an actual fire, obviously.

One of my associates totally screwed up a filing.

I've got to read through about a thousand documents by tomorrow morning.

So, I'm in a hurry, and not in a good mood.

...