He looked like an advertisement for expensive sin, and Cynthia wondered bow he could see through his dark glasses in the dimly lit room. He continually wore dark glasses and she had always wondered why until one night when she was sitting next to him she noticed that his eyes were grossly over-sized and bulged out wetly like a startled fish. She had shivered with distaste and wondered if he kept them on even while making love!

She wrinkled her nose, sniffing the air as he helped them off with their coats.

"I recognize the pot, Shoo-Fly, but what's the other? Incense?"

He looked at her frowning slightly, "Cynthia dear, you know we had incense last time and that I always have something new. Come with me and see!"

He waved them ahead of him through the hall and into the living room, gesturing with a hand carved pipe with a foot long stem and tiny bowl that he had made especially for him in North Africa for his marijuana and hashish.

The living room was almost thirty feet long, the tall windows heavily draped in red velvet and the floor was covered with a thick Turkish rug. Low chairs and couches were scattered about the room and several dozen large square pillows lay in disarray on the floor. The room was almost completely dark and she had difficulty making out any of the faces that were silhouetted from the indirect lighting. The room was thick with smoke, but she could still smell the sickeningly sweet odor that permeated the room.

"No flowers… no incense… well?" she asked.

Shoo-Fly laughed heartily and said, "Perfume! Perfume on all the light bulbs!"

Frankie glanced at her, amused, as if to say, "God, what a freak!" and steered her to one of the large pillows on the floor.

"What'll you have," Shoo-Fly asked, gazing admiringly at Frankie.

"Not you, at any rate," Frankie replied laughing, and helped himself to a couple of joints.