Paul took another drag. He knew he shouldn’t; he was already
in enough trouble. But it was there in front of him; the satisfying taste; the
sense of sharing with his peers; the escape to being somewhere else. His mind
became fuzzy as he drifted off; relaxing as he forgot about his troubles.
Suddenly, a familiar smell sharpened his senses and brought him back into the
room. It was an earthly smell, and he suddenly realised that it was coming from
his own mouth. He could hear voices saying ‘Shit, he actually smoked it’ and ‘Quick,
hide it, hide it.’ He looked up to see a cloud of smoke rising upwards towards
a small white box on the ceiling. He glanced down and instantly spotted the
source; a small white tubed cylinder in his gloved left hand. As he stubbed the
spliff out and crushed it underneath a chair leg, footsteps of shoe upon floor
became louder and louder…
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