Fucking. It’s all I could see through all the smoke. Fucking. A mound of flesh and limbs writhing and surging with ecstasy. It was the smell that burnt my nostrils. Out of the haze I could make out a huge rock of hash, maybe a few meters high. Once in a while a scrawny ginger one would break from the pack and hack large chunks off the rock, grind them in a pepper shaker, and rejoin the group again. Kevy looked at me from the stage. He was playing his Steve Vai solo to a backing track for probably the 30th time now. He looked like a human tea bag in his vest, the self proclaimed hob goblin of rock scraped in his chest. I blacked out….