Not Sure Where I'm Going With This. June 1946 San Francisco. I'm in a jazz club and the air is mostly smoke. The place is packed out, the band is in full swing, everyone is dancing and singing the room is dark but you can't help but be effervescent. The band just finished a song, a roar of applause echoes around the room but I can't help but feel I'm the only one not having fun it feels like I'm at a party where I can only watch but not take part in. So I sit at the bar with a Whisky and a rolled cigarette adding to the already powerful smoke cloud making it difficult to see or breathe, I scan the room for a 'fancy girl' these are usually easy to spot since they're usually scanning the room with alluring eyes. I can't seem to find one amidst the smoke so I stand and make my way to the toilet to do some snuff. I am an addict but I don't plan on stopping anytime soon, I feel free when I'm on the road with a bag of weed a little box of snuff and a hip flask of Whisky, I never know where I'm going but when I'm there I'm always looking for the next place. In the toilet two of the Jazz musicians are rolling a joint before the next half starts I give them a friendly nod and open one of the stalls riddled with dirt and grime, I contemplate leaving the snuff for later but it calls for me.