Edinburgh A to Z

'JOINT? Sure,' she says. 'That'd be really nice.' I've got fed up waiting to get offered something better than this sour white wine she's cracked open. Italian pish. If it has to be wine, give me Aussie stuff any day. Goes down like juice. So anyway, I roll a doobie, all the time thinking that it's the last of my stuff, and not knowing when I can afford any more. Won't get paid now till next Friday, and there's rent and food to sort out before anything else. Still, it won't do any harm to keep her sweet, get her a bit more relaxed, know what I mean? Need to get a bit mell-ow. Anyway, once she's had a few hits of mine, and she sees it's my last, she's bound to return the favour. I can tell she's into it - and there's definitely stuff in the flat, even if it's not hers. She's got Tom Jones on, would you believe. That'll be the famous student sense of irony. I light the J and take a big hit, just as Tom does his impression of Prince on steroids. I just want your extra time and your



Edinburgh A to Z