Leaving the tattoo parlor, your mind is in the fog from the potent weed. You don't even take notice at all the business signs you pass, since your brain cannot read all of them, it just tunes them out.
Heading back to the apartment, you see the same guy that sold you and Damon weed. He walks over to you and greets you like one of his homeboys.
"Man, you need to git rid of that punk ass hair man. C'mon i hook you up"
So you follow this guy who later you find out his name is "Sleepy" back to a very rundown old house.
Some guys hands you a blunt that you quickly smoke down to the nub. When you look up, you notice your reflection is different...well, your hair is. It's done neatly in cornrolls. You stare at your image in the broken, dirty mirror. You like the way it looks, you look more tough, more manly...more ghetto thug.
You smoke them out before you head back to the apartment. As you leave you stop and try to sound out the words you're saying but you cannot. Even if you tried to talk proper English, your ghetto mind couldn't even begin to think of the right words. Your educational level also went down, giving you the brains of a 7th grader. You shake it off as you strut down the street, higher than a kite.
Unknown to you, the weed you just smoked out too was specially grown by Damon, that's why no one else but you smoked it.