You're still trying to decide, but it's too late. There's movement slightly perceptible behind the door as your neighbor peeks through the peephole. You slip the ring off your finger and into your jean pockets. "NO FUCKING WAY, DUDE," Jared shouts excitedly from inside, a little muffled. He swings the door open at lightning speed.
The music is absolutely blasting now, another track you recognize. "One Step Beyond", an unstoppable ska song. You try to ignore the alluring melody, turning your attention to your neighbor. He's clearly rattled. His eyes, the sclera bright red, are wide. He's wearing a loose tank top, so loose that it hangs askew. You notice his left nipple is poking out from the massive arm holes. "I'm speechless, like, completely, dude... this is unreal," Jared manages, his voice rising and falling in tone. You're shocked to see his sweatpants are strained in an obvious tent. He notices, and at least he has the good sense to be embarrassed. You quickly retract any credit however; he covers himself with one hand, crudely jamming the other beneath his waistband to readjust. He removes his hands and the tent is gone, replaced by a subtle cylindrical outline. "Sorry dude, this is like... I was in the middle of uh, personal business before... and like... sorry, never mind." He pauses and collects himself as best he can. "Uhhm, maybe you should just come in." You sigh and follow him in. "It's alright, it's not like you were expecting me," you respond. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to trade with your neighbor... he's clearly a mess.
You follow Jared in, and he closes the door behind the two of you. "I'm way too high for this," he announces, although whether he's saying this to you or to himself you can't be sure. He plops down on a bloated couch that swallows him up. The sofa's bulky cushions seem to dwarf Jared's thin build. You look around for a place to seat yourself. There's room next to Jared, but you decide you'll feel more comfortable on his deflated, threadbare armchair. You sit, and face Jared. His legs are spread wide, and he's leaning back into the absorbent cushion. His shoulders and head are at least turned to face you. He's looking at you carefully, obviously unused to seeing his hair on someone else. Between you is a scratched up table littered with crumpled rolling papers, loose tissues, bong peripheries, and errant scraps of weed. He tilts one foot back and forth, letting his flip-flop fall with a slapping sound. Thwack. He scoops the plastic strap up between his enormous toes and does it again. Thwack. "This is real fucked up, my dude..." Thwack. Thwack.
You figure it's probably your turn to speak. "Well... I'm not sure what to say." You really aren't. You decide to turn the tables. "What do you think happened?" Jared sizes you up for a moment. "Well like, I'm not sure that you noticed my dude, but we completely fucking traded haircuts! But like.... when it comes to how...." Jared thinks for a second, then produces a fat joint. "Um, I guess that's what we have to figure out." He jiggles the packed paper in front of you. "Do you partake?" You hold up your hands defensively. You don't do drugs. "No seriously, it's like... a creative-type booster. Highly recommended." Will it blow your cover to say no? Jared is at least cognizant enough to notice your hesitation. He pats a wide space next to him on the couch. You reluctantly head over. Maybe you can just keep from inhaling.
But before you know it, Jared has the joint lit and on your lips. He's holding it steady for you, his eyebrows raised expectantly over his droopy eyes. He's very close to you for some reason. The low, sweaty smell of Jared's body is mixed in beneath the overpowering weed aroma. You inhale unexpectedly, taking in the smoke. Then you're coughing dryly, your throat ablaze. Well, so much for faking it. You're feeling off-balance and airy, when Jared suddenly speaks...