Chapter 6Driving bass beat filled the car.
“What is this s**t, man?” Carl, large, lanky, black, drew in on the one hitter, held it with a snort, and watched the road.
“It’s Moby. You like?” Brian-Mark took the little brass one hitter from his friend and clamped it between his teeth. Without taking his eyes from the road, he fired up the disposable and brought it to the m*******a within the one hitter, taking his eyes from the road for just a second to watch the little point of orange light grow as he inhaled, watch as it disappeared.
He tapped the one hitter against the ashtray to expel the tiny ball of ash.
Carl and Brian-Mark were on Lake Shore Drive, heading south. Brian-Mark was Carl, except in white: the same lanky body, the same aquiline nose. But where Carl’s hair was black, nap
