The group is talking, and you take little interest in the discussion. Sure, you'll participate, but maybe not right now. You're thinking of the phat-ass blunt you have at
home, and how nice it'd be to find some action of your own.
You say goodbye, and they let you leave. You stroll down the streets back toward your apartment - paid for by drug money. You laugh to yourself, thinking,
"Fuck yeah. got my own pad, my own blunt. Shit, dawg, this is fucking tight."
You make it back to your apartment and smoke your blunt. There's a knock on the door, and you stub it out, waving the smoke away...