The group collectively stop as one.
The bong is discarded, unpacked, forgotten for a moment; the playstation is temporarily unseen. Dye is spilt on the grass mat by the avid hemp clothes fashion designer of the group, and a half consumed pizza slice stops in mid air between box and mouth, as one murmurs; “Told ya so”, through a half-baked grin.
This comes as the Age, Nigel Free-Marijuana’s publication of choice - reveals that we're in it for the oil.
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