Hands shaking uncontollably - are they shakes of joy; or merely another onslaught of your now-standard crack-withdrawal shakes? All moot now anyway... - you stuff the joy-filled little rocks into your trusty pipe. Gandalf the Grey 'aint got sh*t on me! I got my magic potion!

Conjuring the flame from your pocket, you put the pipe to your lips.... and take a look around you. Urgency dissipates for just a second: You're in control here; you decide when to suck that sickly-sweet goodness down into your lungs. You're the one co-ordinating the delivery of that power to your epicentre - and in your capable hands the logistics are so simple! A simple suck -  flame to pipe - hitting your lungs, expanding outwards; power resonating throughout your body; blood vessels twitching; muscles awakening: King-Kong 'aint got Sh*t on me! I'm Rick James B*tch!

But enough with the hubris... it's time to do this! Yeah, baby, I've still got it, I can still rhyme like a motherf**ker, there is no other! Flame-to-pipe,the rocks vanish, with not-even-the-faintest whisp of smoke spared from those hungry lungs. Sucking it down to the depths, the aureolia flatten as you mind fattens then contracts into a pinpoint... and suddenly you're inside.  

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